


[the entropy of time]

by plasmaLegendary



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Assisted Suicide, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Cigarettes, Deep Conversations, Depression, Dialogue, Dialogue Heavy, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Friends, Explosions, F/M, Friendly Fire, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Guns, Historical References, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Interrogation, Kink Shaming, Knives, M/M, Mann Co., Mass Death, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, References to Depression, Respawn, Self-Harm, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, Violence, Violent Thoughts, actually jk everyone's suffering, also the bois have a hug & it is nice, although it's more threatening with a knife, everyone has non-canon names, i swear for the 50th time this will not be porn, in a fic that will never turn into porn, just FYI, just a reminder if ur just tuning in, knife play sort of, mass hysteria, miss pauling is a lesbian, pauling is a mother hen, respawn mechanics are important, respawn used as self-harm, she also can't cook, sniper is full of rage but quietly, spy has intrusive thoughts, spy is also touch starved & suffering, still not porn tho hey, still! not! porn!, the end of the war, this is not going to be porn sorry, this still isn't porn, two belligerent doms attempt philosophical conversation, wow i shoulda put that first sorry, wow so many relevant tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-12-21 10:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21073349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasmaLegendary/pseuds/plasmaLegendary
Summary: There was a particular Tuesday in which quite a bit happened at Mann Co.'s Southeastern Region.The events afterwards slid further & further into chaos.Indeed, disorder is the natural state of things...It is only a matter of time before everything falls.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yo - i have never written a fic before in my life. i have, however, played TF2 for gotdamn near ten years, now.  
apologies for the non-canon names for the bois...i have my own very strong headcanons for them & how they act, behave, talk, etc. - & as much as i keep the ~theme~ of my writing in-line w/ the universe, i don't like..."claiming" that these are the OG characters themselves ripped straight from the comics...because, hey. they're not. everyone experiences the game differently, etc.  
anyway tho, this is going to be a lot of the theme of this work - rather dark, possibly sad, etc. - will try not to keep it too angsty, not into that shit.  
i don't know why i'm still writing notes.  
let me know if i need to tag anything else - i tried to do every "hey this references someone shooting themselves with a gun" tag i could find. but uh, yeah that happens. so lemme know.  
cheers.  
edit: sniper wears the anger/veil hat thing so the idea of a "hood" is just the top part that's mostly used as a sun shade thingy...no ranger rick hats here, sry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--  
edit 10/27: fixed some weird phrases, spacing, changed some lines that lacked fluidity - the meat of the story is still there, nothing stupendous was changed.  
edit 11/02: changed one instance of "will" to "would", & two instances of "is" to "was" for continuity of verb tenses; also corrected a spacing error, & a use of the word "and" instead of an ampersand, outside of dialogue.  
\--

\---

Tuesday.

That’s what it was.

Tuesday, with the air hanging in layers – humid & damp.

Tuesday, with the sun regal in the clear sky above the day’s intended regional conquest: Swiftwater.

Tuesday – cicadas churning in rhythm akin to the battlefield’s own murmuring, alike to the payload creaking uncomfortably on its tracks.

It was Tuesday when the ceasefire was called.

-

“GENTLEMEN…!”

Sniper was so focused down his scope he didn’t quite register it at first, the announcer’s voice screeching through the multiple speaker systems, posted overhead at nearly every electrical junction the contraptions would fit on. Lowering his gun, he sighed & scrubbed a hand over his chin.

_Why is she interrupting the middle of a round?_

There was a pause. The battlefield quieted, even as guns were audibly lowered & holstered. Sniper leaned back against the wood paneling of the fence he had been guarding, & let his rifle lay slack against his off-hand, yet never set it down.

_This cannot possibly be good news._

A sharp squeal pierced the air as the speakers crackled to life again.

Distantly, an offended Scout: “Freakin’ ‘A, my ears!”

“…ILLUSTRIOUS GENTLEMEN…” the announcer continued, a notably dark tone in her voice.

_Oh, no…_

“…IT IS BOTH A DISPLEASURE AND A GREAT HONOR TO CONGRATULATE YOU ALL…” Sniper pulled his hood back, letting dark locks of hair fall over his vision.

_Christ alive, we are being fired. **I ** am being fired. _

“…IN MANAGING TO BRING THE TERRITORIAL CONTROL FOR MANN CO.’S ENTIRE SOUTHEASTERN REGION TO A COMPLETE STANDSTILL…”

Uncrossing his legs & digging his boot heels into the dark earth, he sat up straighter, as if appearing to be more attentive would help him listen better to the angry woman speaking through the air.

_Maybe we’re being…relocated?_

“YOU ALL HAVE ACHIEVED THIS FEAT THROUGH DEBAUCHERY OF BATTLE PLANS, SHIRKING OF CLASS-SPECIFIC RESPONSIBILITIES, AND OVERALL: BEING ABSOLUTELY HORRENDOUS MERCENARIES.”

_…no, no we are definitely being fired._

He winced & turned slightly to the sound of their Heavy, who appeared to be crying into the grass next to his minigun. A mix of Russian & English tumbled together unintelligibly from him in-between sobs, & a very somber, sympathetic Medic was patting the larger man’s back soothingly. “Sie sind sehr gut, mein Liebling…you push ze cart zho far…”

Sniper looked away.

“…DUE TO THIS UNFORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCE, WE HAVE CONCLUDED THAT THE MOST EFFECTIVE COURSE OF ACTION WILL BE COMPLETE TERMINATION OF ALL CURRENTLY-PAYROLLED MERCENARIES ON BOTH RED AND BLU TEAMS.”

…

“TERMINATION AND CEASEFIRE ARE EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY. YOU MAY GATHER YOUR PERSONAL BELONGINGS AND REPLACEMENT LEGAL DOCUMENTS FROM MISS PAULING. …EFFECTIVE TOMORROW.”

Almost as an afterthought, the announcer brought the microphone closer & growled, “YOU ARE ALL MISERABLE CREATURES AND IT HAS BEEN AWFUL WORKING WITH YOU."

"…AS A FRIENDLY REMINDER, THE RESPAWN SYSTEM WILL BE OPERATIONAL UNTIL 0600 HOURS TOMORROW MORNING. SO, IF YOU HAVE A CERTAIN DISLIKE FOR ANYONE JUST AS MUCH AS I DISLIKE EACH. AND. EV-ER-Y. ONE. OF. YOU. …WELL, YOU GET THE IDEA. IT’S LESS PAPERWORK FOR ME IN THE END.”

She chuckled, serpentine, hissing through her syllables as she made her final comment.

“…HAVE A NICE EVENING, GENTLEMEN. I HOPE YOU’VE ENJOYED YOUR STAY.”

The speakers fizzled out in another screeching whine. Sniper grimaced.

_Lovely. Right lovely, this was…_

...

Everything was silent.

-

…for approximately eight seconds.

Loud, barbarian arguments began unfolding between factions, amongst factions; a fistfight quickly erupted after the BLU team’s Demoman made a comment to their Soldier about how ‘now we’re all going to starve’ because ‘we’ll have to be put on American welfare.’

Soldier unleashed his fists while screaming something about how ‘wells’ & ‘the water in them’ are ‘treated very fairly’ in America.

-

Sniper turned his head before he realized he had heard something. The faintest of sounds came from the windowsill above him. Shuffling, though barely audible. A polished shoe against an un-sanded floorboard. A hand, gloved in leather, skirting the smooth metal of an industrial downspout.

He narrowed his eyes & stood, as for just a fraction of a second, the shimmering cloak of a Spy became visible in the sunlight. It then disappeared.

Footsteps were counted in the marksman’s head as the enemy RED Spy descended from a perch on the building that snaked over a large portion of the ‘designated fighting area’ – there was no way the Sniper would attempt to go in the derelict structure to give chase; too many tight corners & sharp turns that greatly favored Spy’s prowess for close-range combat. Instead, the BLU crossed his arms & waited, never letting himself lose focus on where the Spy’s movement had come from, even though the enemy himself could no longer be seen.

Spy moved ghostly, an apparition, stepping silently & flawlessly on each stair-step & shingle that made no sound under his cloaked dress shoes. Careful. Calculated. Collected. He crossed to a small ledge behind the Sniper, taking an unusual, hopefully-unpredictable route, & paused – just for a moment.

The enemy pounced to the ground, feline, landing squarely on soft, muted grass, without a fiber of his suit touching the dirt. Calculated. He braced himself on his knuckles against the earth. Cloak intact, he waited. Collected. Careful. Calm.

Sniper drew his bush-knife slowly. He said nothing. He hesitated.

Inhaling deeply, the air around him felt still, in an unnatural way. If he listened close enough, he would swear he could hear the other man breathing.

Sniper turned around, pointing at the invisible RED with his blade.

_Gotcha._

The RED furrowed his brow in frustration, still perching invisible on his heels. Clumsy. Clumsy. Clumsy.

“Ya’ really wanna do this now, mate? Feel like dancin’ after we all got our arses sent to the cleaners by the Big Boss, ‘eh?” He threw a sharp, toothy - yet genuine - smile to the assassin. “Didn’t get enough, did’ja? ‘s that it?”

As his cloak faded into an off-white mist, Spy met the Sniper’s eyes & returned the amicable expression, if ever so briefly. Imperceptible, even, if one wasn’t already looking at him. The Spy rose to his full height, wanting a fair bit to the lanky gunman.

“You saw me,” the intruder began, raising an eyebrow to regard the Sniper. It was less of a question than a statement of fact, & the European’s grey eyes inspected his suit for debris, damage, sawdust, or remnants of his pride. “…up _zhere_, that is.” Gloved hands gestured above him. “I do not know how you do _zhis_…’nest-building’ and architect_zhure_-climbing every day. Men simply were not…built to trav_erze_ walls.”

The Spy would give his clothing a final inspection as he mused, satisfied that he looked presentable to the enemy, & angled his body towards the taller man – but not before he had checked (& double checked) the chamber of his pistol, careful to conceal the weapon in a flash of cloak while doing so.

“Actually, I heard ‘ya first.” His kukri lowered. “Then I saw ya’. ‘nd lost ya’. Counted your steps, paths ya’ could take…’nd I waited. Felt how the air changed. Felt how it didn’t. Knew you were waitin’ on me. An’ why would ya’ ever come at me from the front? You had come up behind me in the grass. Real low to the ground.” This was not gloating - he was monotonous, as if reading a bedtime story from a cookbook.

RED gave a dismissive, yet thoughtful sound. He was impressed, yet not surprised. He would not say ‘well done’ nor ‘good job’ - it was superfluous. The marksman was talented. Tremendously so.

The BLU pulled his hood up halfway on his skull, adjusted his glasses, & shifted uncomfortably in the silence. It was not unlike him to sit for hours in stillness, but when in the presence of others, the quiet was overbearing. Powerful. Terrifying.

“…so anyway…ya’ just ah…came over to try’n practice ya’ sneakin’?”

Bemused at first by the visible pain his rival felt in social situations, the Spy looked away. “Non,” he began, & his face hardened. He looked at the Sniper - his enemy, his favorite dueling partner for the past two years; a man he would quickly & truthfully refer to as his equal. A respected, talented challenger.

They were…friends, weren’t they?

…it didn’t really matter now, did it?

Now, according to Mann Co., they didn’t exist. The only remnants of their lives were their names printed onto pay stubs, in a check book that likely was smoldering in a fireplace at this very moment. They were nothing. Mann Co. would give them new ‘identities’ – but what of their lives before? What of who they are now? Destroyed.

The tension in the exchange somehow built considerably as the Spy did not continue his thought aloud, & Sniper rubbed the back of his neck in anxiety. Spy wasn’t here to fight. He was here for something else. If he wanted to fight, they’d already be swinging knives around, throwing insults (mostly) in jest. Dust would be kicked into eyes, elbows would break noses, & eventually someone would come back through respawn & be taunted for losing – insult to injury.

Sniper exhaled a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

After a moment, he crouched down in the dirt, stabbing the point of his kukri into the soft clay. He folded his hands together & looked up at the Spy.

_Knife’s still within reach, don’t forget._

“Then what is it, Spook? Y’aren’t really one to stalk me down just to have a chat. Must be somethin’…’m’portant?”

Spy blinked, taken aback by the gesture. He couldn’t believe the man would become prone, vulnerable…unarmed.

That was…trust. Undeserved trust. Perhaps not entirely unrequited trust, however.

He cleared his throat, regaining his composure, & met the Australian’s eyes.

“Sni-…” the Spy paused. More formally - sternly, almost: “Josiah.”

Sniper’s eyes widened.

_What the bloody hell is going on…_

“Josiah, I will be needing you to do _zomething_ for me…”

The Sniper nodded without meaning to.

“…non, non, _zhis_ is not _zomething_ that you…” he searched for the right words, thumbing the handle of his pistol. “…_zhis_ is not a thing you would…enjoy…doing. Not a thing you would do…any day.” He looked down at the Sniper intently. “Not a thing you would do for…anyone.”

Josiah was confused.

He would test the seriousness of the subject, “What’d ya’ want, mate? I mean, hell, if ya’ really try’na get someone to suck ya’ off-”

Spy waved his hand dismissively. “If I ever desired sexual favors from you I would have simply _asked_.”

That would not be the way he was expecting to hear ‘no thanks,’ but the outcome is the same in the end. He shook his head.

“…right, of course. Sorry, mate...” Sniper swallowed hard.

_This is...serious. A bad-sort of serious._

Spy was silent for a moment before closing the distance between them. He kneeled in the grass, inches in front of the other, the fabric of his right pant leg making gentle contact with the ground. Sniper reflexively reached for his kukri at the approach, but stilled his hand before touching it, willed his hands to his lap.

The assassins made eye contact, neither willing to look away first, to show insecurity.

“You are very good at your work, Josiah. I admire your skill, preci_zion_…you are one of _zhe_ best I have ever met. Every death from you made me better at my job. In a way…I thank you.” The words felt foreign on the Spy’s tongue. ‘Thank you’ – when was the last time he had said that?

Josiah was quiet. This was strange, very strange. This sounded like a breakup conversation, or maybe a bizarre employee evaluation.

The Frenchman continued, “Despite _zhis_, no matter how good one becomes, sometimes _zhere_ is…ah…nothing left. No more doors to open. No more paths to go down. I have reached this place, Josiah. This was _zhe_ last mission I was assigned to with Mann Co. – and it was just cut short.”

Sniper was starting to realize what he’s talking about. Or at least, he thought he did.

“Ya’ going to run away? Without ya’ papers an’ gov’nment ID an’ shit? Start a new life?” He interrupted, a bit too eagerly, as if it was an exciting proposition.

He was stopped by the RED’s voice a notable tone louder, forceful. “I cannot. I am your age, bushman. A few _zeasons_ older, even, if memory serves. And yet, while you have lived one life doing one thing very well, I have lived many lives, been many people with many names…it is…difficult…to think about…leaving. To think about…becoming _zomeone_ else, again. Even if _zhe_ person is…myself.” Spy was looking through him, beyond him – he cannot meet the Australian’s hazel eyes anymore.

It was an odd thing, to hear the enemy speak so honestly, so...humbly.

Unnerving, as well. 

“…so ya’ want…what, then?”

…

“I want you to kill me.”

He snapped back into focus & leaned in close to the Sniper. In any other scenario, this would be wildly terrifying – the vulpine assassin, mouth full of teeth, commanding orders at the enemy’s throat.

But now? Sniper searched the face of his counterpart & found nothing but the demand, empty of threats. Perhaps guilt, but nothing more.

_Christ alive he means…tomorrow. After respawn is off…_

“…for…for good, ya’ mean? No…no uhh…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it, to verbally acknowledge that the Spy was requesting that Sniper partake in his assisted suicide.

Sniper had indeed killed a lot of people. Murdered, even, before Mann Co. & their fancy ‘pseudo-immortality’ machines came about. But could he truly kill someone he…knew? Respected? Could he murder his friend…on request?

_Have a plan to kill everyone you meet._

…

As if the assassin could read his mind, the Spy offered a single nod of confirmation.

“I…mate…I don’t know if…”

“You can. And you will.” The Spy punctuated this by lunging forward at the man, nearly sitting in his lap, cocking his gun & pressing it firmly against the Sniper’s temple.

The Australian narrowed his eyes. He did not reach for his kni-.

_…he pushed me away from my knife. Of course he did._

“…respawn’s still on…now, y’know. You’d just be seein’ me later.”

“If I chose to come around, perhaps.”

Josiah steadied his breathing. He’d never been fond of respawn; the strange nausea & unsteadiness in every limb, the light amnesia of exactly how the death occurred…if one even wanted to even remember it, that was.

“Listen, Spook, I-”

“We have never _zhared_ names - formally, that would be. You may call me Basil.”

The shock of the admission was lost to the novelty of the title itself, “…ain’t that a leaf or something…?”

The rogue sighed heavily, pressing the gun barrel against the Sniper’s cheek, forcing his vision up at the Spy. He would listen to this. He would not forget this. “Non, that is basil. Bay-zil. And that is not a ‘leaf,’ it is an herb. I am called Basil – bah-zeel. And in the short amount of time we are all still together as teams, you are to tell no one this. But that should go without _zaying_, non?”

Shaky breaths would be drawn in through his teeth. He had listened. He would remember. “y-yeah…Bahsheel…Bahzheel…that’s…that’s real interesting, I…can’t believe I never knew that…the two years we been workin’ together, y’know? Heh…” Sniper gave a short chuckle, followed by silence as the pistol was again pressed to his temple.

“Yes, it is not something I _zhare_ very willingly. But we have worked together…eh, alongside, each other…quite some time, non? And I am asking a great thing of you tomorrow, which I know you will do perfectly.” Basil patted the Sniper’s cheek tenderly with a gloved hand, in a way that almost wasn’t patronizing. But Sniper knew better.

“I told ‘ya, Spoo-…_Bahzil_…I don’t know if I can do that…it’s…” he looked away, at the grass, the sky, at anything that wasn’t Mann Co., sniping, the Spy, that wasn’t his entire career…but there was nothing to see.

“…it just don’t feel right, Spook. I could never do…this…” he gestured vaguely to the situation he currently found himself in. “I couldn’t ever do this to someone…for real. ‘Specially not you, I can tell ‘ya that much…”

The Sniper’s words fell apart in the air, lost in the space between them.

“And I, _mon cher_, am telling you now that I wish to discuss this no longer.”

The Spy would offer a small, pained smile down at his enemy before pressing his lips to the Australian’s cheek.

“Get some sleep,” the assassin whispered, & straightened his posture.

He pulled the trigger.

\- - -

Spy considers the limp body of the BLU mercenary lying before him.

He lights a cigarette & works through it quickly.

Blood had pooled behind the expired Sniper’s head, staining the grass a dark Merlot.

Flicking half of the smoke across the lawn, the assassin pushes the barrel of his gun up hard against his own throat.

“I will see you tomorrow, then…”

He pulls the trigger. Quicker, this time. Without reverence.

…  
  
---


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -  
been listening to a lot of Godflesh, Smashing Pumpkins, etc., while writing this...idk if that matters at all. probably doesn't.  
-  
edit 10/20: fixed some random capitalization on 'whiskey' that i didn't mean to put, removed a fragmented sentence in the middle of a section of dialogue.  
edit 11/03: changed where i wrote 'right' instead of 'left' because i'm very good at directions  
-

\---

On many days, after the final round’s alarm had sounded, Sniper would return to the base alone, cutting through the dusty courtyard to his camper.

And on many days, this would have him feeling spectacularly like some sort of predatory creature returning to its den after a hunt – a dingo, perhaps, or rather…less of a scavenger – a lone wolf? He wasn’t sure.

Today, however, he was wounded & his mind was spinning. Vulnerable.

_Nothing but prey._

…

He willed this thought out of his head, baring his teeth at the ground.

He was animal, either way.

\---

Halfway to the base, Josiah sucked against his back molars & grimaced, still tasting hot copper against his tongue. He spat onto the dirt, a bright red streak slithering through the grains of sand & staining the ground.

_Fuckin’ respawn._

His head was still buzzing, not unlike the way a ‘gentle’ hangover would. His joints tingled tightly & uncomfortably, & his gums were bleeding.

Unfortunately, none of this was abnormal.

“Fuckin’ respawn…,” he said aloud, but to no one in particular. He would pat the breast pocket of his vest, extracting a (rather disheveled) pack of cigarettes, & took out the last one, considering the finality of everything today.

It lit without difficulty under the setting (yet still impressively warm) sun, & Sniper jammed the empty packaging & lighter into his pants pocket.

The path to BLU’s base from the battleground was long, but not uncomfortably so. He liked being alone with his thoughts, most of the time.

**Most** of the time.

…he needed a drink.

-

The familiar camper sat vigil outside BLU’s base a few paces off; it was where Sniper spent nearly all of his time off-field.

For some reason, it now no longer felt like his, even though it legally was his own, not Mann Co. property.

He pushed the door op-

_The bloody door is…locked?_

He backed away from the van, inspecting the area. Nothing appeared broken, the sunroof locked from the outside & the manual fire escape from the inside was still engaged. Tentatively, he peered into the passenger’s side window – the keys were still in the ignition, no wires seemed out of place, nothing was taken.

Josiah sighed heavily & considered the remaining options. Someone had broken in, not taken anything, & locked the door behind them…as a courtesy? _Bloody hell, Josha’, put your head on straight._

No, no…someone had broken in & locked the door…because they were waiting for him to return.

This proposition made his veins feel cold, & he pulled his hood down, maximizing his field of vision. He would draw his knife, adjusting his rifle strap across his chest.

_Who would want to come all the way out to here just to break into my shitty van…_

He considered Basil, RED’s Spy, but after their last conversation, it was very unlikely that he would have returned, in such short time, just to pull a stunt like this.

The fact that it was very unlikely to be the RED Spy somehow made him more uncomfortable – the enemy’s Spy was indeed the only other mercenary he had developed any sort of rapport with – teammate or enemy. No one else would have any reason to talk to him, much less…**break into his van**…to **talk to him**…

Sniper exhaled roughly – nearly a growl. He approached the door again & jammed the end of his kukri into the lock’s keyhole. After some maneuvering, the pins turned & he placed a steeled hand onto the door, pushing it open with force.

Across the room from him, lounging sideways on a tired-looking armchair, nonplussed & thoroughly unamused with the marksman’s feigned bravery, was a Spy.

The BLU Spy. Their Spy.

-

“Bonjour, Sniper. I was wondering when you would return.”

_The absolute fu-_

“’Fuck are ya’ doing here?! Bloody wily mongrel, get yourself & ya’-”

“Bushman, please,” the Spy would purr, waving a lightly-steaming cigarette with his hand – he gestured to the couch, & other assortment of mismatched seating arrangements the Sniper had collected in his van over the years. “Sit, wouldn’t you?”

“I will not **sit-**” Sniper hissed incredulously. “You,” he was pointing with his knife, now – “will leave me bleedin’ van and leave me the hell alone!”

There was a pause, as if the Spy was considering taking his leave – he was not, however – Sniper knew better than to think verbal threats were enough to rid himself of the pest. Still, it felt better to take some of his anger out with words, no matter how futile the results.

“Hm…respawn.” came the hummed reply – not as an answer, but a pointed observation. Gloved fingers gestured to the Sniper’s hands, which he hadn’t realized were shaking, trembling. “You do not get unsteady when you are nervous, bushman; I must ask, how long ago did it happen? I’m rather curious.” He took a long drag of his cigarette while holding painfully calm eye contact with his teammate, who had lowered the knife.

BLU’s Spy was pronouncedly less French, that or he had managed to wrench the slurs of his accent from his tongue entirely. Aside from this, he was strikingly similar to his RED double, yet still seemed like a different creature. Not a Spy, almost – but something the Sniper couldn’t quite identify. BLU’s Spy was nearly a decade younger than the RED, with a haughtiness & confidence that made this especially obvious. BLU enjoyed dominating conversations & making others bend to his will, even if it did him no real favors in the end. Perhaps it was practice for actual ‘spy’ work. Perhaps he just got bored of shoving knives in people & began trying verbal assault instead.

Sniper was far more experienced, talented, & sure of his abilities than his ‘comrade.’ Yet despite this, he made the Sniper nervous.

_Nothing but prey, aren’t ya’…_

…

“…how…long did…whot? Th’ respawn?” He isn’t sure why he’s telling the Spy this, perhaps some things seem less ‘classified’ if they are amongst teammates. More than likely, however, he was still attempting to feign authority of the conversation. Sliding his rifle strap off of his shoulder, he leaned the gun against the wall & closed the door of the van. “Ahh…not sure, maybe an ‘our?” Sunglasses & kukri were tossed, clattering loudly, onto the circular table in the center of the room. He scrubbed his face with a loud sigh, muffled into the palms of his hands.

The Spy glanced at his wristwatch, a feat of modern engineering in the spy trade, but above all it did provide the time of day. “Hm.”

This was all he said.

Sniper looked up at his teammate, completely perplexed. “Now will you tell me why ya’ here, or did ya’ just really wanna make fun of me for getting’ killed during a ceasefi’a.”

“Of course, yes,” the rogue smiled with teeth that were too white for a chain-smoker & sat up straighter in the faded chair. “I wanted to inquire as to the nature of your conversation with the **RED** Spy this afternoon. It must have been quite a heated discussion, oui? He is the one that sent you…out and back again, as it would be…is he not?” The snake was grinning wickedly, staring down the Sniper with cold blue eyes.

_Arsehole was watchin’ from somewhere…th’ whole time…_

The Australian would search those cold blue eyes for something, anything, that held a semblance of camaraderie. A glint of trustworthiness, of good intentions…yet his search found nothing. Pools of cobalt malice stared back at him, into him, but they did not search. They already knew what they wanted to.

Sniper exhaled through his nose, frustrated but resigned.

He did not reply – verbally, that was. He moved into the kitchenette, pulling a (relatively) clean glass from the counter by the sink, which was decorated with various clutter – other dishes, rags, several knives of different specialties, & generally: trash. From the freezer he retrieved a fifth of whiskey. It was inexpensive, an unrecognizable brand, & most of it was still in the bottle. In fact, it was hard for the Spy to tell if it had ever been opened before. Or how long it had been in there.

He would not offer the Spy a glass. After all, one must be ‘invited’ in order to be considered a ‘guest.’

The cap to the glass bottle cracked as its seal was broken. (It had not, in fact, been opened before.)

Sniper gave a short cough as the first drink hit his throat, flexing his fingers as he met eyes with the Spy, sternly & without a shred of amicability.

“And whot, exac’ly, didja wanna know ‘bout it.” His voice was measured, exact. He kept the distance between them, & the table in front of him. It would be more than unexpected for the ‘friendly’ rogue to become hostile, but it had been a **very **strange day already.

“’S it really that absurd to ya’-” Sniper continued without letting the Spy answer, pausing to take a second drink. The glass met the wooden table’s surface hard with a satisfying ‘clack.’

“-‘s it **really** that absurd to ya’…that while **arguing** with the **enemy Spy**, that there was a chance I might, oi, I dunno, lose the fight? End up on tha’ wrong side ‘f a knife? Wrong end of a gun?” These words & the voice that carried them became harsher, even as his tone gained sarcasm, mocking the rogue.

“’ave ya’ never lost a fight b’fore, **Spoi?**” He moved around the table, closing the distance between the two mercenaries. “Ya **too fookin’ good** for that, aint’cha?” A slow breath of air made its way from his gritted teeth. A booted toe made contact with a chair leg, & he leaned over the intruder, resting a hand on the chair’s back. The Spy blew a line of smoke from the side of his mouth, away from the man looming over him, but did not avert his gaze. That would be cowardice. He knew Sniper had more to say – & he did.

With more punctuation, hazel eyes searing into the assassin’s sharp blue gaze, “…you are most certainly…**not** that good. I don’t think you’ll ever be…**that good**. You are nothing compared to **him**…” He was speaking through his teeth, pressed shut in a low growl – the pressure against his gums caused them to begin seeping blood again, & it trickled down between his canines in thin red rivers, pooling at his bottom lip.

“…and you are **nothing…**compared to me.” The marksman wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or his organic anger crackling under his skin, but both were venomous & he felt like thousands of teeth, ready to pick apart the interloper – thread by thread.

…

The Spy would consider the monologue briefly before stubbing the end of his cigarette out on one of the chair’s discolored & frayed arms.

If he would be telling the truth – or rather, if he ever told the truth – the Spy would admit that he was vastly caught off-guard by this change of tone, his own lack of control of the conversation. Intrigued. Surprised. Perhaps even a touch of fear ran through him, watching the Australian run his tongue across his top teeth, painting them scarlet, here & there. He looked vampiric, something out of a horror movie.

He looked…like a true assassin.

It was fascinating. Not at all what the Spy had expected.

…

“Tell me, monsieur…what exactly is it that my counterpart does so exquisitely well, that I would never be able to replicate?” Elbows rested on the chair’s arms, gloved hands folded in his lap; he glanced around the small room they occupied, as if unconcerned with the man glaring down at him like a rabid animal – as if this was simply a question.

Sniper scoffed, dragging red teeth across his lower lip. “First ‘f all – ‘nd this is a real long list, in case ya’ takin’ notes… – but first ‘f all…if the **RED** Spy was the one that broke into here, I’d either be well through respawn a sec’nd time by now, or I’d ‘ave never known a thing. In ‘n out. Not…” he stepped back, standing to his full height, still seething down at the fellow BLU. “…not bloody lounging on moi furniture and antagonizin’ me about losin’ close-quarters-combat with a Spy.”

The assassin gave a sharp chuckle. “That is what you would like to call it? ‘Close-Quarters-Combat’?”

“…”

Spy waved his hand as if to illustrate. “I simply mean that…usually…” he spoke more decidedly, as if attempting to avoid offending the Australian with poor word choice, but in truth, it was to tear into the man as far as possible – in the shortest amount of words. He cleared his throat.

“Usually…when one observes a…‘couple’ so close to one another, in heated debate…one would assume, perhaps…a lover’s quarrel…or, more interestingly…”

He would meet the Sniper’s eyes, fixed & glowering, & Spy would relish in seeing the ferocity behind the accused’s eyes raise in measures. “…a sort of fetish, no? To be exposed, in public, with your partner…and…how would you say it…‘gun play,’ no? How it must make you…excited, then…being faced with death…” White teeth shimmered sharply – he would win, definitely. But why stop there?

“…”

“Rather extreme, however…to actually kill someone for sexual thrill…respawn or not…I can see why you are in this line of work…” He trailed off, & let his eyes wander, but felt the Sniper’s hatred burning into him – he would be lying if he said it did not fill him with delight. Sniper has been lost to his rage. This will not be a forgivable transgression, if Spy was ever the sort to desire forgiveness.

…

He was not.

-

Sniper grabbed the assassin by his collar, balling his fist around suit lapels, tie, & button-down at once. Without a second of hesitation, the younger man was pulled off the chair & onto the floor, knees connecting hard with the thin, pock-marked carpet.

“Merde-”

He was cut off by the marksman producing a knife – a folded knife, concealed in an inner vest pocket, considerably smaller than the kukri lying on the table, but still impeccably maintained, & as such, impressively sharp.

…Spy was not aware that the man had a second knife.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, though – the rogue himself had three or four knives & assorted sharp objects on him at any given time.

The dull side of the blade would be pressed against the Spy’s balaclava-clad throat as his collar was still pulled tightly upward by the gunman’s opposite hand.

Dark hair fell over the Sniper’s forehead as he looked down at the-

_The absolute…menace._

_Absolute waste of team colors._

He leaned over the Spy, yanked him forward against the blunt of the knife to remind him it was there. Australian vowels were nearly imperceptible as he demanded, with a near-crazed level of insistence, “…now…**Spy**…I **know** what you said. I heard ya’…but just so we’re **clear**…before I go through the trouble of…carving ya’ like a deer on my kitchen floor…what **exactly** would it be that you’re…accusing me of, hm?”

Spy narrowed his eyes, anticipating the Sniper’s words as if they were painful.

“You accusin’ me of-” he paused, the words feeling dark & bitter on his tongue. Treasonous. “-…of **fucking…the enemy. **Is that right?”

“…”

The gunman was dangerous, voltaic. A headache had wormed its way up through his bruised gums & settled behind his eyes. He had barely noticed it until the silence, waiting for the rogue to confess to his accusations. He narrowed his vision, wincing slightly, but keeping fixed eye contact between them.

_It will feel better when the knife is turned._

_It will feel better when the blood is off the floor._

_It will be better when no one else is here._

The BLU Spy had always enjoyed pushing his luck as far as he could, getting away with as much as he could before actually being held accountable for something.

He was not there, yet. This was simply an inconvenience.

“Actually…,” he would purr, snaking a gloved hand up to the Sniper’s knife-wielding arm. Ever so gently, he turned the marksman’s hand, flipping the knife to its edge, the point grazing Spy’s earlobe. The rogue leaned against the blade, tilting his head to the side, displaying the arteries & muscles, warm & alive, underneath the man’s knife.

Sniper watched this, confused & intrigued. The Spy was…teasing him?

“…actually, my dear Sniper…I am accusing you of enjoying this **just** as much as I think you are.”

The taller man would have cut into him right then & there, but he paused, considered.

_He’s the one enjoyin’ this. Absolute perverse bastard._

“…”

“Nothing to say, hmm? Well…perhaps I am wrong, then.” Quickly & seemingly without much effort, the Spy turned the blade around again, but did not attempt to disarm him.

“One last question, bushman…since **I** have been accused of things that are wholly inaccurate as well…” Spy edged forward on his knees until he had pressed his cheek against the Sniper’s inner thigh, affe-

_…affectionately?_

Sniper let go of the Spy – he would not be accused of condoning nor encouraging this…whatever this was. This bizarre threat the Spy was attempting.

The rogue grinned, demonic, & placed a hand on Sniper’s opposite thigh.

“You had said…I was not ‘that good’ – and that, in fact, I would **never** be ‘that good’…so this makes me wonder…” His eyes narrowed, piercing blue; the Spy was likely decent at the art of seduction, but this was something else entirely. Sharp teeth set in a fixed, knowing smile, he all but fluttered his eyelashes up at the Australian.

“…exactly…**how** good…does that RED Spy suck your cock…hm?”

…

\--

Spy knew the impact was coming – he had overstayed his welcome, if there even was one in the first place. His luck was pushed too far – he knew the last jape was too far, but oh, how fun it was to see the stoic gunman explode in fury, lifting a booted heel from the floor to kick the rogue squarely in the chest, flattening him to the ground.

How fun, how fun.

The knife was held still, but Sniper did not point at the serpentine BLU that coughed sharply on his floor.

He did, however, answer the question.

“Not sure I can help ya’ with that one,” he would pull the Spy up by the tie again, until he was seated, disheveled & still catching his breath.

“If I ‘ad ever been interested in sexual favors from him, I would’a simply asked.”

The Spy’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, & hold a stronger, more meaningful gaze with the Sniper. He quickly regains composure, steeling his features & hoping the marksman didn’t notice the slip of his cover – the recognition of his words.

“But seein’ as I’m in the dark on it, I’d like to think ya’ could figure it out ya’self, bloody fookin’ snake: he’s not my ‘boyfriend’ or nothin’-” he brings the point of the blade to the assassin’s throat. “-we **just **kill each other. For fun. As I am about to do to you. …think it may be less fun for you, tho’ – sure hope it is, ‘nyway.”

A toothy, albeit forced, smile is offered to the rogue. “Cheers, mate.”

…

-

A gloved hand wraps around the Sniper’s wrist with an impressive grip. The gunman drops the knife & attempts to step on it, kick it away from the other BLU.

The Spy lets go of him, standing & brushing himself off.

“…did I not tell you, Josiah…that you could do zhis?” A dust of off-white falls from around the assassin, & the RED Spy observes the Sniper, gauges his reaction.

_…there’s no way._

“Fookin’ hell, Spook…I…” Josiah takes several steps backwards, eventually leaning against the kitchen table.

“Hm?”

“I…-” he wasn’t sure how to express his feelings correctly, because what he felt was **exactly** what the RED wanted to hear.

“I…I was going to kill you, Bazhil,” the gunman takes a cautious gaze at the Spy, & although the class is the same, the features are similar, & for all intents & purposes, this is exactly the same gentleman that was harassing him just minutes before – he feels none of the hatred under his skin.

The electricity in him is gone. He cared less about being fooled by the Spy – that was an occupational hazard – but in this way, at this time…

A wave of nausea hits him as pain explodes behind his eyes, worse than before.

He takes a slow, shaky breath in through his nose.

The Spy speaks for him. “You tried to tell me that you could not kill zomeone. You could not kill zomeone ‘like this’ – in the way I had to you. You could not kill zomeone if you were in control…in zhat way. If it was…intent_zional._”

“…”

“Yet, if I had not stopped your hand, you would have.” Basil seems…proud of him, almost. As if beaming about a gifted child excelling in school.

…

“…I **wanted** to kill you…”

Josiah is looking at the floor, at the grooves in the carpet, at anything but the Spy.

“I know. I felt it. It was…pa_zzionate**.**_” Basil gestured to the Sniper as a whole, “Radiating off you like…ah…expen_zive_ cologne. Poetic, non? How did it feel, zhe anger? The rage? …the de_zire_ to kill. To hunt.” The Spy’s eyes were alight with interest.

_So hungry._

_So hungry._

_A starvation that cannot be sated._

“…terrifying,” he lies. “Uncontrollable. Saw myself…carving into-” He looks up at his friend in wordless apology, “-the **BLU** Spy…not you…with my knife…with my teeth…it was all terrible…I don’t know where it came from.”

Approaching the taller man, Basil offers a hand gently on the marksman’s shoulder. “I can tell you, mon cher. It is because you do not let your_zelf_…feel these things, normally. And then, zomething made you angry. Very angry. Whether it is…due to termination, cea_zefire_, respawn, home inva_zion…_zhe…terrible whiskey…or all of these together, it was too much to ‘not feel.’”

“Ya’ provoked me…”

“Of course I did. I would not have gotten such a…stunning, beautiful reaction from you otherwi_ze_.” Basil moves past him to the kitchenette, inspecting several (visibly unwashed) glasses on the counter, eventually opening the cabinets.

Without turning around, “On the right, mate.”

The last cabinet contains exactly three glasses, which appear to be unused. Perhaps for company? If Josiah ever…had company, that was. “Merci.”

Basil pours himself a drink & downs it quickly, trying not to grimace too visibly.

“’s not good, I know. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Fine.”

…

Josiah turns, grabbing the still-frosted bottle & takes a long pull from it. It sets back down on the table heavily.

…he picks it up again. “Next time…,” he points the end of the bottle towards Basil. “Next time ya’ wanna give me a good scare like that…try an’…keep ya’ hands off, a’ight? That was…,” he attempts to take a longer pull from the whiskey, but swallows halfway to finish his thought. “-very uncomfortable.”

Basil regards the comment before erupting into full-bodied laughter. He has to set his glass down on the table as he leans over, bracing himself against his knees. “I am…,” he attempts to breathe more evenly, finishes his drink.

“I was in character, my friend. Please believe that I did not want to do that ei_thzer_. But I knew it would bother you…ah, push you over zhe edge, as it were. It would…’piss you off.’”

“Still…when the guy almost looks like ya’…now I have’ta have that image in my head the rest’a my life. Jeez…”

The Spy snorts & motions for Josiah to hand him the whiskey. He does. “I could always zend you through respawn again…zee if it…clears the mind?” An out-of-character, completely genuine grin snakes across the rogue’s features as he regards his own pun.

“Absolutely not, Spook,” is his response, breathy with laughter, but completely serious.

They drink in silence, & Josiah replays a bit of the last half hour’s events in his head. Abruptly, he turns to the Spy, who reflexively shields himself with an arm at the sudden movement. “What, what is it?” The rogue demands.

“I can’t believe…I didn’t recognize ya’…as soon as I saw ya’ sittin’ there smokin’…” he stares off into the distance, imagining the scene as if it was still in front of him.

“Why is that?”

“You’re left-handed, mate. The…you…**your** **impersonation** of the BLU Spy was smoking, articulatin’…with 'is left, too... I shouldn’t have fallen for that at all…”

Basil looked down at his gloved hands, as if inspecting something he hadn’t considered in a very long time. “That is very ob_zervant_ of you…I am, however, ambidextrous. Not by nature, but…it is bred into a Spy’s nature. One must become in full use of both hands equally to effectively imper_zonate _someone.” He gave a knowing smile to the Sniper. “For more…detail-oriented per_zons_, like yourself…that would notice those things.”

Switching the empty glass to his opposite hand, without really meaning to, he nods in affirmation. “But yes, I am left-handed. By nature.”

He continues, “Do you know for a fact, however, that your BLU Spy is **not** left-handed? It would be a very strange coincidence, indeed, yet roughly ten per_zent _of the population is of this hand-orientation. It is not out of zhe question.”

Josiah considers this & shakes his head slowly. “Nah, I’m not sure act’ally. But…I dunno, just supposed you’d have to use your dominant hand even if pretendin’ ta’ be someone else. Not sure what I thought.”

The Spy chuckled dryly. “My friend, I could imper_zonate_ your high-school girlfriend and you would have me halfway to bed before realizing.”

“…perhaps further, who knows. I thought I knew you very well, Josiah. I have been plea_zantly_ disproved of several thoughts I harbored today.”

The Sniper isn’t sure what the assassin means by that, but his head is fuzzy & he needs to sit down.

He lays onto the couch with a long, labored sigh, an arm crossed across his face. The lights were still too bright, his headache too pronounced.

“…could ya’ act’ally do that?”

Basil brings the remainder of the whiskey to the ‘sitting area’ & sets it on a small coffee table, testing it first to make sure it will hold the weight.

He sits opposite the Sniper, in a chair decidedly not the one his cigarette butt was still pressed firmly into the arm of.

“What would ‘that’ be?”

Josiah turns his head to the side. “Pretend’ta…’impersonate’…a girlfriend or somethin’…?” He starts laughing as soon as he’s said it.

A sharp snort escapes the Spy. “Ab_zolutely _not. I will not be doing that.”

“No no no-no-no…I don’t **want** you to, I ain’t **askin’** ya’ to, I’m just wonderin’. **Could** ya’?”

The RED takes a decidedly long drink from his re-filled glass & says, almost as if he wanted to ignore the inquiry entirely, “…in theory, yes.”

“That’s neat, act'ally...ya’ ever…dress up as someone real handsome so tons of girls wanna hang out with ya’?”

There is a scoff at the description of ‘dressing up’ – & another at the implication that the Spy was not handsome in the first place. “I’ve never found that nece_zarry_,” he states dryly, though the warmth of alcohol was tingling through the tips of his gloved fingers, & at the tip of his nose.

He plays along with the rest of the Sniper’s asinine questionnaire. And he enjoys himself.

They are both drunk in the company of their enemy.

They are both jobless.

Life had been better, but it was alright for now.

\---


	3. Chapter 3

\----

Time passed.

Stories were exchanged between the two, both embellished & truthful, while some were entirely fables.

Tales of near-death experiences before joining Mann Co., expositions of the most embarrassing things done in their youth.

Time passed, as it does.

The last stretches of light poked in from the half-drawn shades.

An amount of whiskey still remained in the bottle, though the mercenaries both knew they should have stopped drinking quite some time ago – getting shit-faced was no longer ‘acceptable’ at their ages.

…especially not on a Tuesday.

\--

“-I am telling _zhou_, mon cher…_zhou_ will _nhever_ get _zhat_ Pyro to divulge _zheir_ name, much less _zheir_-”

** _BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…_ **

A call came through, interrupting Basil’s slurred explanation of the nature of ‘the Pyromancer Class.’

It was muted, muffled – Josiah sat up from the couch, startled. The movement of his head felt like all its contents were liquid, sloshing against the sides of his skull.

He grimaced & shook his head gently, willed some sort of focus into his vision.

** _BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…_ **

_Where’s tha’ bloody phone…_

Spy moved as if he was going to stand up, then paused, considering his ability to do so.

He stood, braced a hand against the wall. He blinked unevenly.

“_Zhat_ is…_zhe_ Mann Co. devi_ze_, non?”

He referred to the telephone – radio, more correctly – issued to every employee, to be used between administration & mercenaries, or between teammates in the event of emergency; a base invasion, off-hours stolen intelligence…it had also been used by the RED Demoman last spring to contact every available employee, alerting them that the Engineer had made ‘an absolute fook-ton’ of enchiladas, & that everyone should come over. The call after that was a fire alarm at the RED Base.

…

The Sniper nodded slowly, standing shakily. Spy nearly thought to offer him a hand in getting up, but that likely would have caused both of them to end up on the floor.

** _BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…_ **

“…well, where _iz_ it?” Spy gestured across the room.

“I ah…I don’t…I dunno…” Josiah couldn’t remember the last time he had used the Mann Co. phone, but it was never good news when it rang.

“It don’t hav’ a…an’ answerin’ thing…does it? It’s just gonna…keep on ringing…” Sniper observed, glancing around the room, following Basil’s eyes.

The rogue sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose with gloved fingers. “Non, it does not. And yes, it will.”

Josiah sighed heavily & struggled with the concept of being mentally present.

_This would not be so hard if more of your blood consisted of blood._

…

** _BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…_ **

Josiah had remarkably skilled senses – his hearing & sight was far beyond what an average man could perceive & recognize. He had learned how to taste the air, to feel the presence of things that were imperceptible to the untrained.

That was, of course, when he was sober.

At this moment, however, everything was dulled – he could feel & hear his heartbeat rushing behind his ears, in his skull…but not much else.

** _BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…_ **

“Sounds like…maybe…ova’ there?” He turned towards the kitchenette.

Spy shook his head. “Non, I believe _zhou_ may have been on top of it…” Cushions & pillows would be pulled off the couch, the rogue tossing them hastily to the floor.

From the back of the couch, Sniper half-heartedly searched for the grey, brick-sized ‘phone’ as well, shoving a hand between the cusion & back-board of the sofa.

“…hm?” He felt a small, pencil-shaped object & retrieved it. A cigarette. Extremely dry, impressively ‘aged.’

** _BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…_ **

“…_zhat_ is dis_ghusting_,” the RED recoiled, still searching between the couch’s arm cushions.

A soft huff of laughter escaped the side of the Sniper’s lips as he has already pulled out his lighter. “Yeh, it is…but also betta’ than bein’ drunk with’outta smoke.” He grinned at the rogue & took an (admittedly terrible-tasting) drag.

“…_zhou_ do know,” Basil stopped his thought as his hand touched the hard plastic edge of the phone, wedged tightly behind the left arm of the couch. He extracted the device, which loudly buzzed in his hand.

** _BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…_ **

“_Zhou_ do know…” he retrieved his cigarette case from his suit pocket, both to obtain a smoke for himself, & to display to his companion the very organized, tidy arrangement of evenly-spaced cigarettes housed in the small metal container. “…should you ever de_zire_ something, you need simply to **_ask_**.”

“…”

_He would, wouldn’t he…_

His smile was dark, & he broke the eye contact quickly, glancing down at the radio. A single word displayed on the dim screen – ‘Pauling.’

“_Zhis_…is **most definitely**…for _zhou_,” he handed the phone over to the Sniper, who blinked several times, focusing his eyes on the tiny screen, the small buttons, everything that was blurring & swimming together.

** _BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…BEEP-BEEP-BEEP…_ **

He pressed the green button.

-

“Ah-…this is BLU Team…Sniper…” he stated formally, tossing a nervous glance towards the rogue, who had settled himself down on the re-cushioned couch & was smoking, watching the conversation with mild interest.

“**SNIPER!** Oh my god I was about to mark you as decea-…nevermind! How are you?” Miss Pauling was an anxious, loud woman, & her voice carried through the small room without effort.

It helped, of course, that Josiah had answered the phone with the ‘conference’ button, & the Spy covered his mouth with his hand as he tried not to laugh audibly.

“Yes…ah…jus’ fine, ma’am…” He would not ask why she was calling.

“Great! Just great. Hey, we-…I, really…have been trying to call everyone…see who’s still…ah shit…,” her voice grew quiet. There were sounds of a pen making contact with a clipboard.

“Sniper,” her voice was firmer this time, more direct. “Let me be honest with you…I’m not sure where you’re at right now, but I wouldn’t recommend going into your Base right now. Or outside at all, really…”

“…” He doesn’t ask why this is. His mind was turning as quickly as its inebriated state could manage. Spy sat up straighter, a concerned look crossing his features.

“You know how everyone got fired yesterday?” She said this almost cheerfully, as if it was the only piece of good news she could share.

“…mhm, yes ma’am I recall…”

“Yeah…and you know how right after everyone got fired, The Administrator told everyone that respawn would be out of commission at six in the morning tomorrow?”

“…”

“…and…heavily implied that everyone should engage in acts of war, illegally, while not under the employment of Mann Corporation any longer, since no one…no one would…come back…” her voice was softer, as if this made her very sad. It was curious to think that an employer truly cared about the wellbeing of their workers, but Miss Pauling had always been different – the median between the mercenaries & The Administrator. She cared. She always had. Now was no different.

Sniper cleared his throat & attempted to match the gentleness of her voice, the genuineness. “Yes ma’am…I did hear that…”

“…”

“…” Josiah looked at the phone, made sure it was still on.

“…”

“…Miss…Pauling?”

“THEY FUCKED IT UP. THEY FUCKED IT ALL UP. THEY FUCKED IT UP AND NOTHING WORKS AND EVERYONE IS DEAD.” She sounded like she has burst into tears, but Sniper knows better than this. Miss Pauling didn’t cry. She didn’t get sad over things, she got revenge for them instead.

This being said, Josiah was getting the impression that he was the **only** mercenary the woman had been able to contact, & as such the only one she’d be able to share all of this with…implying that everyone else…

He shivered, feeling incredibly sober.

“…**Mon Dieu**.” Spy did not mean to say this but it escaped his mouth, audibly enough to be heard by the Sniper, who quickly shot him a surprised, incredulous look.

Pauling’s next words seemed more energetic, interested, yet questioning. “Is…is that the Spy? Is Spy with you?”

Sniper would give a short cough. “Yes ma’am, I am currently with the Spy,” he stated flatly. It was not a lie.

_It is not the truth…_

“Are…are you sure? Like…absolutely positive? Because I’m actually at RED Base right now and found your Spy…in several pieces. It took me quite some time to put him all together, to be honest…”

“…y-yes I’m…I’m sure it’s the Spy…”

Her tone changes quickly. “…you’re being…held hostage!? By…RED’s Spy? Oh for the love of- …can you give me your coordinates? Where does he have y-”

Basil blinked heavily, wide-eyed. He looked up at Josiah, prompting him to come up with something clever & not especially socially-incriminating to say.

_For fuck’s sake…_

“No! No, ma’am…I’m…the RED Spy is with me, yes. We’re…in my…van.” He articulated this painfully & awkwardly, realizing how it sounded just as soon as the words left his tongue.

_Shit…_

Spy nearly dropped his cigarette to the floor.

Miss Pauling was quiet for a second. “Err…am…did I interrupt…something? I wish I could say I can call back later but I really can’t this is-”

“**No! **No-no-no…for fook’s sake…ah…sorry, ma’am.” Sniper scrubbed a hand over his face, covering his eyes with his palm. “No it’s nothing…of that sort. I’ll rephrase: the RED Spy an’ I are jus’…havin’ a smoke in me’ van. No one is bein’ held ‘ostage, I promise.”

“Oh! Well that’s great. I’m glad no one has to be rescued. Both of you are fine, then?” She raised her voice a bit, “How are you, Spy? Doing well?”

“Oui, Madame. All is well.” Basil stated coolly & without hesitation.

“Fantastic…fantastic. You’re both alive.” More sounds of her pen on the clipboard. “So…you know how I mentioned that they ‘fucked it up’ and ‘nothing works’ and ‘everyone is dead?’”

Sniper nodded. “Yes we…definitely ‘eard that part…”

“Of course, yes. So…I’ll be honest with you, The Administrator does not like…any of you. She doesn’t like her job. She doesn’t like much of anything, I don’t think…”

She continued, “But more importantly, she does not like paperwork. She does not like having to fill out the ‘re-commissioning’ papers to send all you guys off with new identities back into the world after you’re done at Mann Corporation. It involves a lot of government snooping around into things they don’t like seeing here, asking questions she doesn’t like answering. To be honest, handing over paperwork that says a mercenary ‘died in combat’ is easier. It really is – I won’t lie.”

The men looked at each other as they put this all together.

_Is everyone ‘round ‘ere a sadistic bastard?_

“_Zhe_ respawn…was turned off early,” Spy was working on a second cigarette, deeply perplexed by the elaborateness of this all.

“It was.” She stated, almost apologetically. “I didn’t know, please believe me that I didn’t know. I would have warned everyone, told everyone…not to…listen to her…”

“’ow did everyone find out?” Sniper rubbed the back of his neck. It was coincidence, without a doubt, but the marksman’s entire body felt sore again as it did after respawn, his joints grinding uncomfortably in their sockets.

“…your Spy, actually. The BLU Spy.”

Basil raised his eyebrows. “And how did _zhat_ young knife-happy fool manage _zhat_…?”

“I’m not sure what their intentions were, but several BLU members approached your base – RED Base – after the round had been called off. The Spy went first, though. It was ceasefire, of course, but intruders in the opposite base are still considered fair game. However, this was a special circumstance, as none of you were employees anymore. It was no longer…your base. You no longer had…teams.”

“Who killed him? _Zhe_ Spy.” Spy asked mostly out of curiosity, while also trying to put the picture together in his head of this bizarre scenario.

“…a sentry gun. Unfortunately, even if the Spy could have stopped to talk to one of your men, explain himself, that sort of thing…the sentry isn’t programmed to understand…unemployment. A BLU was in the base, and it shot him into pieces. Lots of…pieces. Everyone started asking questions when the Spy’s body didn’t return to BLU’s respawn…when it was still there, ten minutes later. Thirty minutes later.”

“…’nd everyone else?” Sniper could understand the Spy dying…but Miss Pauling made this out to seem like a massacre. Surely not…everyone…could have died.

“The…Scout…offered the…thoughtful suggestion…that the Spy had feigned his death, and was instead walking around as one of them.”

Sniper could see where this was going, & winced.

“…Soldier shot him through the skull. Point blank. Those were lots of pieces, too…lots of…smaller pieces…”

“The rest was mass hysteria, actually. As absurd as that may seem, it’s real and has happened at other bases before too, ones that I cannot mention due to current investigations involving them.” She cleared her throat. “Guns were drawn as soon as everyone saw Soldier go trigger-happy on the Scout. I believe Medic was the last one alive…aside from you, Spy. The Medic saw that no one was coming back, no one was respawning, so he locked himself in his office, let his birds out through the window, and put a bullet through his neck.”

Everyone was silent for several moments.

“Who is still unaccounted for?” Spy would ask, flicking the end of his cigarette towards the ash tray on the table beside the whiskey. He missed.

Papers turned audibly, then, “…just…just BLU Pyro. I confirmed everyone from RED is…considerably deceased, aside from you. BLU team has…Sniper…and Soldier reported for his new paperwork already, a day early. I gave it to him, of course…told him to leave as soon as possible. It’s possible…he took Pyro with him? I’m not sure who Pyro talks to, or who their friends are…I couldn’t reach them on the phone…and they weren’t amongst the bodies in either base…”

“…either base, ma’am? I thought the…event…’appened o’er at RED…?”

“Mass hysteria, Sniper. When people start accusing each other of being Spies, of not being part of the team, even if that team doesn’t truly exist anymore…and when word gets around about ‘friendly-fire massacres’…I’m surprised…surprised any of you made it out, honestly…”

“I’m…glad. That you’re both alive, that is.” She smiled softly through the air, & the gesture could be felt by both mercenaries.

“What would _zhou_ have us do now, then, Madame?” Spy wanted to know if they will be reassigned. If they would be asked to fill in roles for other regions.

“Actually, gentlemen, I have to go right now…but I want you to sit tight…**please** don’t leave that van if you can help it…I know only the BLU Pyro is unaccounted for, but I don’t know if anyone’s heard or seen something they shouldn’t have…a civilian, a drone, I don’t know. We have no intel on anything, anymore…just sit tight until I get back to you tomorrow, okay? I will get back to you tomorrow. **I will.**”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Of course, Madame.”

Before hanging up, she added, much softer, “…boys, if I don’t get back to you tomorrow…if it’s sunset and you haven’t heard from me…”

There was rustling & static in the connection.

“…I need you to set the place on fire, and get as far away from here as possible. Burn everything. Paperwork, office documents, legal notes, paintings, **_bodies_**…anything that will turn to ash. And drive as far as you can…okay?”

Josiah swallows hard. “Are…is everything alright, ma’am? Are ya’…is it safe, where you are? Do ya’ need to…come ov-”

“None of us are safe, Sniper. None of us.”

“…”

There was silence on the line, & then a dull dial tone.

-

Sniper dropped the phone onto the couch, & met eyes with the rogue.

_Everyone…everyone was gone._

“I hate ta’ disappoint’cha, mate. But I gotta tell ya’ somethin’.”

Spy was silent, moving his feet from the sofa to the table to offer the marksman a seat.

“I know ya’ told me I could, ‘n had me prove it ‘n all…but I most definitely will not be pullin’ any triggers for ya’ tomorrow. Or today.”

The rogue narrowed his eyes knowingly.

“You ain’t dyin’ by my hand. Not in a way they can’t put’cha back togetha’. I won’t do it.”

Basil nodded, not in agreement – in understanding.

…

“…gimme’ a bloody cigarette.”

And he does.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
this is like all dialogue but it's going somewhere i promise.  
...i think.
> 
> ...would you believe me if i told you i actually had planned for this asshole to die, all the way up until this very moment? 
> 
> ...i'll catch y'all later.  
-


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo there's a lot of (originally unintended) detailed talk of anxiety attacks, depression, suicidal ideation, self-harm, violence directed at oneself with a gun, etc. etc. in this chapter - i've tagged the entire work accordingly, but pls b aware. 
> 
> take care, i'll catch ya'll on the flip.
> 
> edit 10/30: i reworked the section w/ Baz's anxiety attack thing - i was originally tryna make it really jarring & sudden, which is how i relate to panic/anxiety, but it ended up not reading very well & lacked fluidity - so i broke it up a bit more, lengthened it - hopefully it should sound smoother now <33  
\--

\----

Midnight crept over the Mann Co. region.

…eventually – with pronounced hesitation.

The most difficult, strenuous days always seemed to close with trepidation, as if giving fate a chance to throw more wrenches to the earth.

That Tuesday had been no different.

But finally, after the mercenaries had sat (mostly in silence) considering their fates –

Finally, after cooking (& burning) some corned beef hash (expired) to provide some nourishment for the two –

And finally, after more storytelling & bullshitting, though markedly more somber, with less embellishments –

Finally, it was Wednesday.

…

\--

A single, soft, electronic ‘BEEP’ was heard.

Sniper looked over at the Mann Co. phone, & Spy waved a dismissive hand.

“Non, it was my watch. It is midnight. It is…‘tomorrow’…” These words hung in the air longer than either of them would have liked.

The room glowed in a dark amber from a single lamp in the corner opposite the door & kitchenette, towards the Sniper’s bed – empty, disheveled, & seeming to lack sheets.

Josiah turned from his place on the couch, angling his body towards the RED, as if he had something very important to tell him. Something too pertinent to say to the air, or to the space between them. He flexed his fingers outward, knuckles concave & cracking softly without any contact. Balling his hands into fists sharply, the joints popped a second time – louder.

Basil regarded the Sniper with eye contact, grey & coldwater, but did not move from the chair he had claimed as his ‘space’ for the time he was confined to the marksman’s camper.

“…”

“…what is it?” Basil flicked his gaze forward, to the slats between the dingy shades. The desert was remarkably cold & colorless at night, & if there was anything to be seen outside, it likely was not a good (or friendly) sign.

The remarkably cold & colorless desert (the very same) sat, vacant, in his line of vision.

“Do ya’…-” from the corner of his vision, he observed the gunman shaking his head & leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs.

Spy would not press him – the Frenchman had the good sense & enough respect to know the BLU would speak when he was ready. Anxiety seemed like it was a foreign experience for the man, & Spy would let him work through it in his own time.

…

“How much ‘f whot Miss Pauling said do ya’ think was true? Ya’ think ‘Mass Hysteria’ really killed all ‘em blokes? D’ya’ think she’s coverin’ up a ‘Mass Extermination’…?” Josiah said this quickly, forcing the words out as his heel bounced nervously against the floor.

“…”

Spy blinked. He ruminated on the proposition.

That was not something he had considered.

The RED turned in the chair, facing the Australian & his hazel eyes, full of fear. Though he believed it, the Sniper must have considered this thought…deviant? Mutinous? He looked…afraid of himself, for thinking it. For verbalizing it.

“I am…not _zhure…_now that you say a thing like _zhis…_”

In the near-dark, the Spy felt around on the table for his cigarette case.

“It is…po_zzible…_of course…” he breathed deeply & exhaled a long line of smoke towards the ceiling. “…that ‘Mass Hysteria’ **was** _zhe_ actual cause. I have heard of _zhis_ phenomenon. Mostly…in hi_ztory_, however. You recall ah…_zhe_ witch trials…in _zhe_ United _Ztates_?”

“’o course…‘eard of ‘em in school ‘n all.”

“Indeed. And _zhe _Great Fear – _la Grande Peur – _before _zhe _French Revo_luzion_…_zhe _great unrest between pea_zants _and _zhe bourgeoisie-_”

Josiah had never heard that word said ‘correctly’ in his life – long vowels cradled naturally on a native tongue.

“…but all of _zhose zhings_ were…very long ago. It is…not unheard of, however, to…lose one_zelf _in the mid_zt _of calamity…it is…_folie à deux – _or rather, _folie à plusieurs._”

The Sniper studied him for several moments in a pronounced silence.

“…**madness** is…**contagious**.” He offered a rough translation, exhaling slowly.

“…”

Without making eye contact, “I think if _zhere_ was, in fact, a ‘Mass Hysteria,’ it was less from _zhe_ thought of ‘_zomeone_ in RED base is a di_zguized _Spy,’ but more, if not entirely, from termination. Chaos….and _zhe _realization _zhat_ respawn had been…decomi_zzioned_…”

Sniper leaned back on the sofa. “We’ve all been fired b’fore, mate…ya’ think this was really that diff’rent?”

“Indeed.”

“…”

“There is a…reckle_zznezz_…one approaches fights with, here at Mann Co., knowing they will respawn…knowing they have ano_zher _chance. And ano_zher_. And **ano_zher_. **I have caught my_zelf _doing this, I have seen you as well – a type of…reckle_zz_ abandon. A…sloppiness. Everything matters…a little less. A friendly spar be taken further than intended…”

He narrowed his eyes. “…a mi_z-_calculated ‘spy-check’ has no real consequences.”

Spy turned, pointing decisively at the marksman with half a cigarette, ember burning gentle orange in the dim room.

“Imagine…if I had not stopped your hand, earlier.” This was direct, stern, & without remorse.

“Spook, stop. I get’it-”

“**Imagine it**.”

Even in the darkness, the sharpness of the European’s clear grey eyes burned through the Sniper; not like knives, but something with energy, life – claws, perhaps. Sharp teeth. Thorns on a flowerless plant.

“If I had let you drive your knife into my throat, like you were hungering for. Like your eyes _zo _de_zired _to. If I had chosen to reveal my identity to you in death, in_ztead _of breaking di_zguize_.”

“’don’t wanna talk about this – it didn’t ‘appen that way, it doesn’t matta’-”

A gloved hand came down hard on the small coffee table. “It ab_zolutely _matters!” He pressed the cigarette into a ‘v’-shape against the ash tray.

“Imagine if I had done _zhat._ If you had killed me when respawn was already off. You would have truly and permanently ended my life.”

“I bloody know whot killin’ someone implies. What’s the goddamn point of this?”

Basil folded his hands & broke eye contact. “_Zhis_ _zubject_ makes you de_venzive._ You have enunciated, in _zeveral _forms, that my permanent expiration is…not _zomething_ you wish to participate in.”

“…”

Josiah narrowed his eyes – again, he had let the Spy provoke him. He was being careless. Tactless. The readiness & availability of his feelings was…abnormal, & it made him uneasy.

_Why are you being so open? You have no emotions for these bastards._

…

“You…are only one man of eighteen mercenaries that were on these grounds. Imagine, then, if ano_zher_ like-minded man found out he had put a bullet in _zomeone_…permanently. A teammate, perhaps. A **friend… **Imagine what it could do to one’s mind.”

“…”

Josiah exhaled, refusing to consider this as deeply as the Spy wanted him to. Sure, there might not have been any cover-up. There might have actually been a ‘Mass Hysteria’ – but the way Miss Pauling had said those final words…’no one is safe’…why was no one safe?

“I dunno…sure, they coulda’ all gon’ mad like that…” Sniper flexed his fingers outward, alternating left & right. The joints popped rhythmically.

He looked up at the rogue with a furrowed brow, considering his words as he said them – making sure they felt right.

“…I don’t think I woulda shot meself if I found out I’d killed ya’ on accident, though. Earlia’, that is. I’d’ve felt real awful, but…’was under tha’ impression ya’ were someone else…” He turned away. “…doin’ it on purpose is somethin’ else.”

_There are no emotions for him, either. None like that, at least._

Basil shook his head quickly, “Non, non, _zhat _is not what I meant, I would not expect you-”

“Then again, not sure. Don’t think ‘bout that stuff much. What’d bring me to…end it all, y’know? Maybe that would’ve been it. Maybe not.”

…

_…for fuck’s sake, you don’t know when to shut up, do ya’?_

…

The conversation had both derailed & plunged deeply into a dark, cavernous place; the Spy could tell that Sniper didn’t speak of these things often, or perhaps at all. He studied the Australian with piqued interest.

He wondered what demons the man wrestled with behind those (exquisitely calm) hazel eyes. He considered what might keep the marksman up at night, the shapes of the creatures that lingered in his nightmares. What was it the bushman sketched (or wrote? Spy could never tell, & never wanted to get too close to BLU’s base) as he watched the sky, heavy with stars, from the roof of his camper at night.

He would not ask about these things. But he would give the thoughts room in his head, allow them to tingle the front of his skull & the underside of his tongue.

How terrible a thing it was, to be curious.

…

He would, however, ask, “You do not…think about death? In its finality, _zhat _is.”

“Nah, mate. I really don’t.” He shook his head gently, ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I did b’fore Mann Co., ‘don’t remember though…” Catching the assassin’s gaze briefly, “…d’you? I mean…I know what ya’ asked me ta’ do ‘n all…but I didn’t know if…it was a thing ya’ had been thinkin’ ‘bout for a while or jus’ somehin’ that b’came an…option?” Sniper winced, worried he had worded that very badly, or offensively.

…

“All _zhe_ time, _mon cher._”

Truthful, genuine, followed with a soft smile – no teeth.

Quickly, to steel his features, cover the gentleness of his tone, “Al_zhough_…less of a de_zire_ to, and more of…_zhe_ po_zzibility_. Being faced with it, preparing for it. I actually pr-…” he stopped himself, looked away, ashamed. “-non, non…never-mind.”

…he knew he wouldn’t get away with that, but he’d try anyway.

He had intended on asking Sniper about _his_ thoughts & intentions, not the other way around. He was not braced & prepared for a barrage of questioning himself.

…  
“Nah, mate, what is it?”

He sighed heavily. “I…pra_ctize._ Being…faced with death. It is strange, it is probably ‘a Spy thing,’…” He would wait for a verbal acknowledgement of attentiveness.

“…yeah?”

“Hm…” A gloved hand pinched the bridge of his nose. He had not told anyone of this. He was not sure why he was explaining it now. “_Zometimes…_I will dis_guize _as _zomeone_ I do not know per_zonally_, but have seen; _zomeone_ in a movie, a magazine, it does not matter.”

Sniper wasn’t sure where the rogue is going with this, but he nodded along all the same, showed he was paying attention.

“…I do _zhis_ in a mirror, yes? _Zhere_ is _zomething_ about dis_guizing_ that allows one to…see both selves at the same time…yet still _zeparately._ I do not know if _zhis _makes sense.”

“Not particularly, mate, but I’m listenin.’”

The assassin sighed & continued. “I…am not _zure_ how to say _zhis_ part without sounding like I am a lunatic – but nonetheless.” Another heavy sigh escaped him, uncomfortable, & bordering mild distress. “I will interrogate and threaten _zhe imperzonation_ – _zhe_…reflect_zion_…and in a way, it feels like listening to _zomeone _else’s threats and words. It is…mostly to test my own re_zolve_. My strengths. Weaknesses.”

Josiah considered all of this. “…it’s really not all that weird, mate. Sounds a lot like what ah…actors do before plays ‘n all that. Practicin’ lines, whateva’. What’s it got to do with…thinking about dyin’ though?”

…

“…I put a bullet through my throat when I get to _zhose _parts of _zhe_ threats. It, ah…adds to _zhe _realism.” Teeth crept into his smile, vulpine. Carnivorous.

“…”

Sniper scrubbed a hand over his face. The unpleasantries of respawn were so intricate & specific that he couldn’t imagine someone would go through them intentionally.

“Fookin’ respawn ‘s hell, mate, why would ya’ go through that over ‘n ova’ again just to…practice ya’ ‘Spyin’?”

...

All at once, the conversation had become far too invested.

He was done. He wanted out. He would talk about _anything_ other than that.

...but the rogue found no place to divert his words.

A familiar uneasiness crawled down Basil’s spine & under his skin. He wanted to leave. 

He likely would have rather shot himself_._

...but those were things he could not do.

Pressure frothed between his ribs, demanding.

It pulled his chest tightly – bones squeezed inward, crushing the air from him.

He pressed his eyes shut.

Everything spiraled in blind vertigo. 

He had to say something, give some sort of deflection.

“…because it hurts,” is what he managed, weakly.

It was truthful.

...& he was terrified by his inability to make something up, to lie, as what often came easily - almost _too _easily - for him.

Basil could weave a falsehood to anyone.

...but there was nothing quite like the monsters in his chest.

...

He managed a shaky breath, & attempted to still the quaking of his spine.

…

Josiah turned his head, grinned through the Spy’s tension, whether he felt it or not. “Ya’ some kinda…masochist, then? Got a respawn fetish? Just love feelin’ like’ya’ got fook’d with’a sack’a rusty nails, eh?”

Spy exhaled in a more relieved way than he meant to – he could play along with that, sure.

He snorted a small, forced laugh. “_Zomething _of _zhat _sort, yes. _Zhe_ dizziness and ah…jelly-feeling…is not completely terrible if you know what to expect. Prepare your_zelf_ for it.”

That was also truthful, but it was objective & impersonal, & that was something he could handle. That was a conversation he could control. He settled deeper into the chair. His watch lit up dimly – 0200 hours.

“I suppose, mate. Whatever gets ya’ off I guess. It don’t make ya’ gums bleed and eat at ya’ joints though? Feels to me like bein’ pulled outta’ a car crash…”

Basil hummed, considering. “Yes…teeth have fallen out – _zome_ have been replaced. Nosebleeds, occa_zionally_. Ruptured eardrums. _Zhe uzual._”

The marksman shook his head. “But ya’ still do it…for training? For…pain tolerance?”

Spy shifted uncomfortably.

“And…if you ain’t adverse to pullin’ triggers on ya’self…how come ya’ asked me to do it for ya’, anyway?”

Sharp teeth formed a smile in the darkness. He could answer that.

“Because, killing one_zelf_ temporarily does not mean anything. It is…a way to pass the time. But a Spy cannot kill them_zelves _‘formally’ on their own accord. It is, ah…immoral?” He waved his hand, dismissing the word. “Non, non. It is _dizhonorable._”

Josiah nodded. “…makes sense, I guess.”

“Wantin’ to die in general isn’t…dishonorable, though?”

…

_…good fookin’ job – absolutely masterful, Josha’._

He should not have said that.

He realized this as soon as it left his tongue, but that was too late.

It was pointed, accusatory. Severe.

…

Spy ran his tongue against the back of his teeth, set his jaw in a hard line.

“You mi_ztake _my ‘disinterest’ for ‘clinical depression.’ I am not _zuicidal-_” he said this with a notable distaste to the word, as if it was dirty. Wrong. Definitely dishonorable. “I do not wish to attempt building another false _exzistence_ on the shoulders of Mann Co., nor do I wish to undertake the task of _zocietal_ integration…being a ‘_zivilian’ _– these are things I do not want to do, as _zhey _are both dull and, the later, im_pozzible_.”

His eyes were steel & fixed sharply on the marksman. There was a flash of frantic energy behind them, as if he had never said these thoughts aloud.

He had not.

Basil continued, softer, but with force – syllables measured & purposeful. "When all of one’s time has been spent being…fragments, _zhadows_ of people, many different lives…all at once – one’s own life begins to seem...incredibly _zhort_…but al_zo_ as if…as if it never began…”

“…”

“…I am not in po_zzezzion _of my youth, clean conscience, nor identity _zhat_ once belonged to me." He leaned forward, punctuating his monologue. “I mean what I say, when I tell you _zhere _are no more doors, no more paths…for me to take.”

Josiah picked his next words carefully, slowly.

“Why ya’ still ‘ere, then? Pauling said ta’ stay here, that it was dangerous, whateva’…but ya’ still ‘ere. Are ya’ gonna stay with Mann-”

“Do you know why **you’re** still here, bushman?”

The question & impersonal ‘nickname’ are masked with a cold, vacant shroud over his features.

“…nah, mate. I can’t tell ya’ that. Just how things ‘appened. But I do know I wanna see what happens to this shithole and the bastards that’re runnin’ it. I wanna know how it feels to drive off this base.”

“…”

“…don’t you, mate?”

The Spy would not look over at his friend – he would stare down at the floor.

There was no answer.

…

He tried again. “Don’t you wanna drive off this base one of these days? Tomorrow, wheneva’…I wanna know what it’s like to leave this place…don’cha wanna know what that feels like?”

It was pleading, begging, but the tone was even. He searched the assassin’s angled features, his wiry frame.

There was silence.

Only silence.

…

…& while that silence was long, the Sniper was patient.

Eventually, the rogue raised his head, ever so slightly, to catch a sliver of the marksman’s hazel eyes.

“…**madness** is…**contagious**, is it not?”

…

Josiah smiled, toothed & jagged – incredibly authentic.

“It must be, mate…

…

…it must be.”

…

-

\--


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
updated tags for the whole work, but for this chapter specifically, there's: a non-consensual kiss, smoking & assorted tobacco activities, knife violence, mild/moderate gore, mentions of dead people/dead bodies, blood, mild torture for interrogation purposes, implications of a previous relationship(?), something-that-seems-like-ptsd, sniper has a really great throwing arm, The Real BLU Spy, several knives actually, a real death, & we still don't find miss pauling.
> 
> sorry, lads. these never finish where i mean for them to.
> 
> edit 10/24: fixed an awkwardness before snoipah interrogates the blu boi - was hard to tell the speaker. has been fixed. also some verb tenses, & switched the phrasing of "letting his friend have the floor" to "without being asked" because scary red man is very alpha here thx.
> 
> i...don't like this chapter very much, i don't think. but onward we go! (& always twirling, twirling twirling - towards freedom!)  
  
edit 11/08: changed two instances of "the" to "zhe" in Basil's dialogue for continuity purposes, changed an instance of "this" to "that" for tense agreement between nouns, added a brief sentence after a piece of dialogue where the speaker was hard to distinguish, swapped out an instance of "was" for "had been", fixed a typo from "lets" to "let"  
-

\--

Eventually, light rounded the horizon’s edge.

Eventually, they made coffee.

Eventually, it became afternoon.

Eventually, they were out of cigarettes.

Evening…

Sunset.

…

…there had been no call.

\---

Spy cast a long, absorbing look at the marksman.

Pauling’s words had been sharp, authoritarian. _‘Burn everything that will turn to ash.’_

“Where…did you want to start?”

He did not answer the question. Instead, “D’ya’…think we should try callin’ her…? Prolly’ not…right? If she’s tryna…hide or somethin’…” Josiah considered the grey device sternly.

The device might have considered him in return, but neither party moved.

“Non, non…just…take _zhe zhing_ with us.”

Basil gestured to the door. They hadn’t been outside in over twenty-four hours, & it was becoming more than uncomfortable.

“Right, o’course…after you.”

-

Desert flowed in every direction – remarkably cold, remarkably colorless.

Basil inhaled deeply.

A rush of dark thoughts poured into him.

He could kill the Sniper, take the van, never be heard from again.

He could cloak & disappear by himself, alone into the desert.

He could look for Miss Pauling, see what it was like to put a knife in her chest-

…the RED closed his eyes & shook his head. Intruders, these desires were. No - undesired, wholly. Distasteful. Base, without tact or motive.

…

“…comin’?” Josiah was a few paces ahead of him, moving towards the BLU base.

“…yes, yes.” The Spy would follow him, asking, “I thought we would…vi_zit _RED first…_zince _Pauling said she was _zhere _last?”

Sniper paused at the garage door for the base. The code didn’t work. The panel had been disabled. “Ah, hell…”

“Odd.” Basil reached down to where the door met the concrete, & attempted to lift it upwards. It had not been manually locked, & slid upward easily.

The gunman answered the question. “Yeah, we’re goin’ ta’ RED inna’ bit…but that’sa long walk and we got no smokes, so I’m, ah…_borrowin’_ some.”

In the garage had been the Engineer’s workstation – various tools & contraptions laid out on the tables.

With practiced swiftness, Josiah knelt down in front of a metal shelving unit, dragging a toolbox from the bottom section into view.

The toolbox contained many things that were not, in fact, tools. Many coins from different countries, a pair of glasses, a spool of fishing line. On the bottom was a dark pack of cigarettes, still in the cellophane. Strong. Perique.

Sniper checked his lighter, made sure the flame still clicked without difficulty. He nodded at the Spy, tossing both objects towards him. He caught them.

“These’re bloody _awful_, mate – ‘s’all we got, though.”

Basil shook his head, glanced around the garage with visible discomfort. “It does not matter. We will be leaving now, yes?”

The BLU stood, considered the profound silence of the Base, how abnormal it was.

“Yeah, we’re goin’.”

They shut the garage door & began the trek across the map to the opposite Base.

-

…

They had travelled in silence for quite some time, which did not bother Josiah that night – more than enough words had already been exchanged in the past few hours. These could be ruminated on, to fill the silence for them.

He had to ask, however, “…I ain’t sure what’s goin’ on in that Base, or what we’re gonna find in there-”

“I know. I can take care of my_zelf_, _zhould_ I need to.”

“…tha’s not what I meant. What I wanna know is – how armed are ya’?”

This struck the rogue as an odd question – it was never something the bushman asked when they were…_employed enemies_…he had never seemed concerned with what he was facing, what weapons he was up against.

Why did he care now? Was he…going to turn on the Spy, now that there was no respawn? No…second chances? Was he counting his odds for winning a fight against the rogue?

“…why do you need to know?”

The BLU exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, spat onto the dirt between them as they walked.

_Fookin’ suspicious wanka’…_

“…so I can make sure I get ev’rything off ya’ carcass.” Sarcastic, incredibly dry. Humorless.

The jest would be ignored, & the Spy would allow the silence to work itself into the crevices of the space between them – pronounced, obvious.

…

Eventually, with less sarcasm. “I’d like ta’ know ev’rything we’re playin’ with. Ya’ know the…that silly mantra I ‘ave? A _‘plan ta’ kill ev’ryone ya’ meet’_? It works best when ya’ know all tha’ plans ya’ can make.”

Spy hummed – that made sense. That was reasonable.

Basil would show the marksman his small collection of weapons as they closed the last few meters on the RED Base.

-

The garage door on the RED Base worked perfectly. It squealed open as soon as Basil tapped the “open” button – there was no code.

_Pretty secure, ya’?_

“Odd…things _zeem_ fine over h-”

Both mercenaries recoiled visibly, backing up against the garage door.

Sniper pulled his bandana up to shield his nose.

…

It was just as Miss Pauling had said it.

Everyone…_everyone_…was dead.

-

Basil stepped forward, transfixed by the sight. Horrified.

The bodies began inside the garage, but most were in the connecting room.

In another context, at another time, this would look remarkably like a ‘normal’ scene from a battle between the teams – a team wipe as they clashed at a mid-point, perhaps…

…

But as much as the Spy knew it _could _look this way, it did not.

He had never seen this many dead men, collectively.

He had never seen, smelled, nor felt this much death in the air.

This was death…_in its finality._

_…_

Terror rose to his throat.

He was not sure what he was afraid of, but the feeling clung to him, demanding.

His heartbeat began threading faster on its fragile line, his breath shaky.

…

**“Basil.**”

Sniper’s voice was firm, commanding. His hand was on the rogue’s arm, & as the Spy observed the contact, the offending hand let go.

The RED blinked at the ground, shook his head.

They were here to find Miss Pauling.

…or to burn everything to the ground.

…

“It is…a lot. To take in, _zhat _is…” He offered this half-heartedly, dismissing his episode of vacant terror.

The marksman nodded.

-

The mercenaries moved between bloodied corpses, careful not to disrupt any final resting places of their comrades.

A hallway opened into a two-storied common area, & Josiah mused at how it was identical to BLU’s Base, with a different – warmer – color scheme.

Tables lined the circular room, & the stairway that led to the second floor was ringed with a thin chrome banister. Papers were scattered across the floor & along the tables. Unimportant papers – drawings, signed by the Pyro; unfinished poems, in German.

Every few feet, there was a smear of blood, a trace of deep burgundy, staining the walls or floor.

…

Something felt off. Something was very wrong.

He turned around once. Twice.

Popped the joints in his knuckles – twice.

Basil felt it as well – the overbearing heaviness to the air, the suffocating of the room.

…

“…_zhere _is _zomeone _here.”

…

“…there is.”

The marksman breathed this quietly, as if he didn’t want it to be true.

But it was.

There was someone with them.

…

Sniper angled his head towards the ceiling, listened to how the air moved through the room.

He was very aware of the RED behind him, & turned to face Basil – hoping it would give more direction to whatever ‘foreign’ force was creating the unpleasant sensation the hunter had developed a near sixth-sense for.

He closed his eyes, & the air around him hummed brilliantly, buzzed with electricity.

…after a moment, he flicked his eyes up at the RED.

“…it’s tha’ otha’ Spy.”

Basil blinked, thumbed at his pistol.

…

…another…Spy.

The BLU Spy.

…the _actual _BLU Spy.

[He was above them.

He was watching.]

…

Sniper looked up at the stairway, crawling the height of the wall. His eyes panned over it several times before settling.

“…’ow well does your knife work as a shuriken?”

“…pardon?”

“Ya’ foldin’ knife. If ya’ throw it, does it go ‘n a straight line? ‘s it weighted evenly?”

Spy considered this a moment. It was. Very much so, in fact.

But that was too easy of an answer, even now.

He wanted to see the Sniper impress him.

…

“…I am not _zhure…_how good is your arm?” A challenging smile as the rogue offered the BLU his butterfly knife.

“Not sure, neva’ done this.” He flipped the tool open with a surprisingly quick & practiced motion that the Spy had not expected.

“Do **not **lose my knife_.”_

…

Josiah adjusted his grip on the weapon a few times. He moved to the left, getting a better angle on the ‘target’ – which none of them could see.

-

[The BLU Spy, cloaked & perched atop the banister at its highest point, regarded the scene.

He was fascinated.

That madman was actually about to try & throw a knife at him, blindly, at that height disadvantage?

He would stay where he was – perhaps give the man a sporting chance. It was delightfully entertaining.

…but how was that Sniper so perceptive of him?

…what was BLU’s Sniper doing with the RED Spy, anyway…?]

-

The makeshift shuriken soared a bit too high.

Nevertheless, it sliced through the air – straight & even.

-

[…there’s no way…

“**How?!-**”]

-

BLU Spy’s cloak was disrupted as he moved to shield himself with an arm, half a second too late. The knife connected with his collarbone, sliding past the bone & lodging itself in the flesh & tendons under the trapezius.

“**Fuck!**”

He fell back against the wall, flaming blue irises narrowed at the ‘intruders.’

Basil turned to the Sniper in disbelief. He had pulled his bandana down to his neck & was grinning darkly, self-satisfied & malicious. It was an incredibly impressive feat, & the RED shook his head slightly.

Josiah knew that a verbal compliment would not be given, but he acknowledged the Spy's bewilderment all the same. “…I know_. I know.”_

He was transfixed, completely predatory.

He approached the stairway.

He would go in to finish the kill.

It was his nature, after all.

…

The BLU Spy, though younger & less experienced, still knew to leave the weapon in a stab wound until it could be dressed. It could cause more bleeding, more damage.

…but he didn’t think about this.

He wasn’t thinking much at all.

He was absolutely pissed.

He reached across his chest with his left hand, wincing & screwing his eyes shut as he gripped the blade’s handle.

Hissing through his teeth, he ripped it from his shoulder, which seeped blood in a bright river down his suit jacket.

He would discard the knife over the banister, & it clanged against the floor some feet below.

The two BLU mercenaries were within arm’s reach of each other.

The Spy braced a hand against the wall, staggered against the banister.

“Fucking…absolute lunatic…” He seethed up at his fellow BLU.

Sniper took a step forward to the ‘friendly’ Spy.

_This seemed…uncomfortably familiar._

He looked down at the RED, who was observing the interaction with moderate interest.

This was the _actual _BLU Spy.

A bladed knife tip touched the younger man’s suit jacket.

“Why…are ya’ here?”

The Spy narrowed his eyes, said nothing.

“Place’s covered ‘n bodies, not a soul ‘live but _you_…”

“…survival of the fittest, it would seem.” He would test the absolute last fibers of the man’s patience, even if it cost him his life.

Sniper retracted the kukri & overlaid it in the wound left from the thrown knife. Pressing into the torn flesh, the Spy writhed, cursing & yelling at the Sniper – he fell onto his back on the stairs.

The marksman withdrew the knife, watched the Spy gasp for breath & avert his eyes.

He would push his hood back over his shoulders, kneel down on the stairway, glaring down at the assassin.

The BLU rogue was prone, wounded – his shoulders trapped between the man’s boot & the kukri, perpendicular to the ground, balanced against its tip in the Sniper’s hand.

“I will ask ya’ again…”

Sniper leaned forward, angling his face to threaten his words directly into the other BLU’s ear.

“Why…are…ya’ here?”

He gave more options, to extract any amount of information he could.

“Workin’ with tha’ Administrator? Killin’ off survivas’?”

The knife was brought to the assassin’s throat reflexively.

“Have ya’ hurt…Miss Pauling?”

…

There was a chuckle – a girlish giggle.

“None of those assholes care about you, my _love_…”

His tone gained a seductive…playfulness…that made Sniper pull back from him, regarding the rogue with hard, unfeeling eyes.

“Miss Pauling…definitely…does not care about you…” He continued.

“Everyone has either died, escaped, or is in this room. And shortly, us in this room will be in the first category, as well.”

Blue diamonds of eyes caught his gaze & the marksman was completely uncertain who, or what, he was even threatening.

Even moreso than before, the BLU Spy seemed entirely inhuman.

…

Teeth were too white. Too damn white.

…

With a pained exhale, the BLU Spy would quickly place a hand behind the Sniper’s head, around the base of his neck. Wrapping gloved fingers tightly into the gunman’s hair, he sharply pulled the Sniper’s head to the side, to speak directly - & warmly – against his ear.

Sniper struggled. “The fook’ are-”

“I watched you two…” he would begin, an excitement building audibly in his voice, as if this was a secret he had been waiting to tell the Sniper for years.

“…after the round was over, all that afternoon…”

…

_…good grief._

“_He_ really doesn’t…give credit to my abilities. Although I must say, the performance was…very entertaining.” He exhaled a soft laugh. “From both of you, that is…”

Sniper pulled back against the rogue’s hand, but the other BLU held him tighter, gathered more of his hair in his grip.

He had more to say. Sniper would listen.

Malicious lips brushed the Sniper’s ear ever so gently, as if accidentally. “How enjoyable it was to see you so…angry. So ready to kill…because of ‘me’ – a fictitious me. Ah…I must say, it does things to the ego…”

“Get ya’ bloody fookin’ hands off’a’ me-”

**“Would you kill me now, too?”**

The words have barely left his tongue as he released the Sniper that the kukri was plunged all the way through the Spy’s original shoulder wound.

A sharp cry escaped the Spy, & the sound reverberated through the room.

He laid on the stairs without fight. Panting, breathless. Bleeding.

“I don’t want to. Ya’ know things I wanna know, ‘n ya’ don’t have ta’ die ov’r ‘em.”

…

“You are **_hesitating_**…why?” He breathed, painfully, yet couldn't help but provoke the bushman.

“It ain’t **hesitating** – I just don’t want ta’ kill ya’ if I don’t have to.”

He was angry, yet attempting to sound noble.

He definitely could be pushed further.

…

BLU’s Spy coughed weakly, beckoning the Sniper to come closer with a nod of his head.

“Then let me tell you what you need to know.”

Sniper knew this was not what he wanted to hear, but he had every upper hand in the engagement, & the Spy would be too weak on his dominant side to overpower him again.

The marksman leaned forward as the Spy beckoned.

“You must know…” the Spy began, & lifted his left hand, weakly, to place it on the Sniper’s shoulder, drawing him in closer.

There was a flinch, & Sniper’s spine stiffened, but he leaned forward, observing the Spy from above.

He smiled with those too-white teeth, & Sniper vaguely recalled being educated by Basil on how ‘all Spies learn how to use both hands equally, & are ambidextrous.’

…

_You’re a right moron, ya’ know that?_

…

The Spy would grab a fistful of hair behind the Sniper’s ear, & pull him hard against the assassin.

The BLU Spy would…_kiss him_…

_…?_

Or…something similar to that.

It was forceful & closed-mouthed & ended as soon as the Sniper had processed that it happened at all.

The rogue pushed him back & ran a tongue over shark-teeth.

“You must know…that **_he_ **would not have **hesitated…to kill you.**”

…

-

A pistol hammer was pulled back behind the Sniper, & the RED Spy materialized into view of the two BLU mercenaries.

“You are wrong, _Julian-_” the RED stepped in front of the Sniper, who backed up without being asked.

Basil regarded the disheveled BLU Spy beneath him. “As _uzual_, you know nothing.”

‘Julian’ all but purred at the steel-featured mercenary. “Ahh, and here I thought I would have to die to your new _boyfriend…_”

“Stop talking._…inzolent _fool…I will not lis_tzen_ to your speeches today.”

…

The RED leaned over the younger Spy & pried the kukri out from his shoulder.

A loud whine escaped him, but everything was becoming numb, now.

The tip of the kukri was used to poke underneath the BLU Spy’s mask, slicing it off from the bottom, before the RED tore it off all in one motion with his right hand.

‘Julian’ was…shocked. A look of terror crept across his face, now exposed to the mercenaries. His light brown hair didn’t quite match his eyes the way Sniper was expecting them to, & his face wasn’t as scarred as Sniper thought it would be.

Basil crouched down to face the unmasked rogue before poking gloved fingers underneath the jawline of his own mask, peeling it off slowly from his head.

It was…ritualistic, almost.

Reverent.

At the same time, it absolutely was not.

_…black hair. Interesting…_

“B-Basil…” the BLU Spy began, shutting his eyes as if he didn’t want to see the other Spy, truly.

“You will **look **at me…”

It was not a request.

‘Julian’ peered up at the RED’s fixed grey eyes.

He felt cold metal pressed against his jawline, dragged up his cheek, to his temple.

The BLU shivered, nearly wanted to cry.

Basil smiled, a true darkness behind his eyes. Not of malice nor revenge – but of finality.

“I…I can tell you…what happ…happened…” the BLU said shakily. “I…don’t know what happened to Pauling, but they…they shut off power to the radio transmitters…the phone things…it’s why they aren’t working…”

The RED would pat the younger man’s cheek softly. “Ahh, very u_zeful_. I appreciate it. If only _zhis_ was…**prior**…to you…_azzaulting zhe_ Sniper and accusing me of di_zloyalty_.”

‘Julian’ let out an audible sob, wrenching his eyes shut.

“**I said you will _look _at me.”**

The RED roared, leaning into the cowering BLU.

Their eyes met, & the RED’s expression softened, if only for a second.

He would lessen the pressure of the barrel against the BLU’s skull, placing a hand on the younger man’s jaw.

There was a moment, & their lips met – intentionally, it seemed, from both parties.

…

It lasted a second longer than it needed to, before the RED pulled away, sternly.

**“Non.”**

…

A gloved hand held the BLU’s jaw as the pistol was forced against his skull.

**“**You** never **were**…_that good.”_**

**…**

“And you are** _nothzing…_**compared to** him.”**

**\- - -**

The shot echoes in the room, & the empty casing clatters, hollow, as it bounces down the stairs.

Josiah has…questions.

Basil stands, lighting a cigarette, running a hand through his hair.

“…you _zhould_ not have hesitated. He is-…was…not worth your time.”

“I’m…I’m sorry…I didn’t know…ya’ knew each otha’…I…” the Sniper recalls the last few minutes & hastily wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand.

Basil exhales a laugh, barely audible.

“I had to…even _zhings_ out. You are…too good for him. He would not de_zerve _to have you be _zhe_ last _zhing _he touched.”

…

The marksman knew better than to press this, & clears his throat instead.

“Miss Pauling is…prolly still alive, then? Jus’ couldn’t get ‘hold of us?”

“Hopefully, yes.”

-

They moved through the base without many more words, & without any sign of Miss Pauling.

They discussed setting everything on fire, as per instructions.

…& decided against it, as per ‘what if Pauling is still somewhere around here, & we accidentally burn her alive.’

…this was an unpleasant thought.

-

Nightfall came & went.

Another sun – the very same, in fact – approached on the horizon.

Thursday, was it?

-

God, what a fucked-up week this was becoming…

…

They needed a drink.

…& they had absolutely no time for that.

\---


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---  
sorry this took me so long, i spent like three days working on the same 1,000 words & not being able to get them anywhere i wanted them to be...
> 
> but ya - we're still in lots of dialogue & exposition, but we'll get into more exciting things later, i just started this scene & had to finish it. 
> 
> take care, see ya'll on the flip.  
  
edit 11/08: shortened the reaction after seeing the lil Pyro art piece - didn't like how wordy the original was  
  
edit 04/28: shortened the boys' conversation by one entire line that i didn't like - integrity of the scene remains, however  
\---

\---

There was not a single undiscovered beating heart in RED’s Base.

They were positive of that.

But fire would spread, & before everything was razed, it was only honorable that they went back to check the Base at BLU for Miss Pauling, as well.

(This was becoming more of a chore than they had expected.)

They didn’t even work for Mann Co., anymore.

But the young woman had entrusted them with knowledge: the truth of their teammates’ deaths, the nature of the Administrator’s ideology.

Pauling had said she would contact them – yesterday. She had not. She _could _not.

…& she had left them with instructions.

It was only right that they carried out her wishes.

…but they would not leave her behind, if it could be helped.

That would be dishonorable, truly.

\--

The men retraced their steps through the Base.

Josiah pulled his hood up decidedly as they approached the stairs & common area.

Though his peripheral vision was shielded, he still caught glimpses of the BLU Spy’s body; the vitiligo of blood-spray – uneven, crimson spackling – against the wall.

Sniper forced himself to look down at his boots, observing every stairstep in his descent.

_Don’t look at the focka’._

_…he’s not worth ya’ time…_

…

_…tha’ stairs always been this long?_

Attempting to escape the gruesome scene, he only stopped moving once he reached the center of the lower floor, & could no longer feel the heaviness of death against his skin.

Under his boots were several stained papers, discarded & littered across the concrete floor. The entire Base was in a chaotic, unrecognizable state, but this room – unoccupied during the massacre, appeared as if someone had tossed the contents of an open briefcase over the edge of the second-floor landing, the notes & scraps of printed lists fluttering slowly to their own, chosen graves.

_…someone was still alive…ta’ throw ‘confetti’ in the common room…?_

_Or…it was **before** everythin’ went to shit…?_

None of that seemed to connect. If the BLU Spy was the culprit of the…mass-littering, as it would be, perhaps he was looking for something? A certain piece of information – a note, something confidential.

But this was not ‘intel’ – these were…entirely random, unrelated documents: written shopping lists for up-coming ‘off-base outings,’ the last six months of itinerary for Mann Co.’s supply truck (which provided resources for both Bases), a projected weather report for the next thirty days.

These were…_recent_ documents. Recent, but terribly uninformative.

Sniper shook his head – if he valued his sanity, he was not going to attempt working out all the intricacies in Mann Co.’s recent flurry of events.

On his right was a paper that stood out from the others – a drawing in crayon. There was a sun, the moon, & several blue flowers. A step back revealed words, etched carefully in dark green below the field of blooms. ‘_BEAUTIFUL DAY TODAY’_ – was its inscription.

On a different day, Josiah might have considered this a 'nice' or 'innocent' piece of art. An innocent doodle. But now…

…now, it was incredibly somber. Memorably & profoundly…sad.

…

He turned around. The Spy was still on the stairs, observing the body & surrounding area of the expired rogue.

_The fuck’s ‘e doin’…_

_…_

“Ya’ knife’s on tha’ floor, mate…” He offered, a tone louder than needed despite the distance.

“Non, I know…” was the response.

…

“…I was going to take his cigarette case,” the assassin explained to the air – he turned, descending.

The knife – flipped open & tacky with blood – was retrieved from underneath a table. He grimaced, folding the weapon closed & sliding it into his jacket pocket.

The distance between them closed, & he met the Sniper’s patient eyes.

“…however, I cannot find it.”

“…”

Josiah considered how much more _expressive _the Spy looked without his mask on, despite pronouncing his age & battle-worn features. His eyes, flashes of silver lightning – intense & incredibly bright – sat on tanned cheekbones with marked attentiveness.

The assassin blinked slowly, smiled coolly as he became aware he was being observed.

Or…admired, perhaps?

Perhaps not.

He could not be certain either way.

…

But as soon as the observation was noticed, the Sniper had looked away, letting quietness envelop the space they shared.

Josiah turned down the hall to leave RED’s Base, trusting Basil to follow – & he did.

…

“…?” It was wordlessly asked, yet asked all the same – a sharp, sideways glance at the bushman.

…which he noticed, & refused to acknowledge.

The rogue had been growing accustomed to the nuances of conversing with the BLU on a more personal level, recently, & the unbroken silence suggested that the marksman was considering his words carefully before speaking.

…that was not always a good thing, Basil was learning, as several times the Sniper’s words ended up being just as terrible as he was trying to remedy.

…

Finally, to the floor, & not in any direction suggesting he was even aware of the RED’s presence:

“…tha’ two’f you were…t’gether…before…?” The marksman made a vague gesture with his hands. “…a couple, I mean.”

Basil had been waiting for that question.

Truthfully, he was surprised it hadn’t been asked already.

“Non. Not like _zhat_.”

“…”

This would not be the answer that the Sniper was expecting to hear, but for some reason it was comforting, being wrong about the matter.

“…that’s good, then…I think I’d’ve felt bad if…”

Basil choked a sharp laugh, its inflection harder than he intended. “You…what?”

That inflection pulled the rest of his thoughts from his tongue as well, loosened by the malice in his tone.

“You, Renowned Sniper, war-hardened killer, would have ‘felt bad’ if you watched me murder a pre_viouz_ lover?”

Sniper’s jaw set.

He wasn’t sure why he was getting defensive over this, but he most certainly would not let the Spy (or any Spy) provoke him…_again._

“I might.”

Spy shook his head in disbelief, in awe. “Your…’moments’ of empathy are _aztounding_. I am still not _zertain_ if you are the kind of man _zhat _would cry over an injured teammate, or slit _zheir _throat to end _zhe _suffering.”

_Rhetorical questions and mind games ain’t my thing, Spook…_

“Depends.”

“On wh-”

“To be honest, mate, I thought I had a pretty good grasp on what sorta’ man **you** were, but as far as I can tell, I watched ya’…make out with the enemy, put a round through ‘is skull, and then tell me you two didn’t know each other.”

Basil would smile, all while a visible irritation seared behind his eyes. He crossed in front of the Sniper & stopped, bringing the other to a halt as well.

“I never said we did not **know** each other – I said we were not…_romantically involved_. As it would be, we knew each other quite well. He was to be my…repla_zement_, non? I had known for quite _zome_ time this would be my last contract with Mann Co., and _zomeone_ had to step in for me.”

Josiah raised an eyebrow. “You were…trainin’ this bastard?”

“For a time. And of cour_ze_, as things turned out, your team lost _zheir_ Spy very abruptly, so instead of being able to take my place, ‘Julian’ would become BLU’s Spy instead.”

The marksman considered this for a time, ran it all through it head several times. Lots of loose ends didn’t meet at expected places.

“He didn’t wanna be your enemy, did ‘e? He was obsessed wit’cha, wasn’t he?” Josiah brought his eyes to the Spy’s unmoving, stormy gaze. “There was somethin’…not right about ‘im…I could tell that much, but ya’ played his part so well, your impersonation of him. You both must’ve studied each other like fookin’ textbooks or somethin’…”

A small laugh escaped the RED, & he ran a hand through black hair, streaked with dull silver – regal, however aged it made him look.

“I must say…,” lighting another cigarette, he angled his body away from the Sniper, avoiding the piercing eye contact that was beginning to feel like bleedings wounds through him. “It is rare _zhat_ I am so quickly…ah…pulled apart, like _zhis_?”

“Scrutinized?”

A nod in response to the offered synonym, “Quite, indeed. It is…uncomfortable, but all the same, I commend you – your perception knows no limits, it would seem.”

“Gotta’ know how what your prey sounds like walkin’ through tha’ brush, same as ya’ gotta know what a dingo sounds like, creepin’ up on ya’ in the middle of the night.” Josiah shrugged, although the comparison didn’t quite match up.

“…in what context am I the ah…’dingo’…?”

“Ya’ aren’t, yet.”

“…”

“Jus’ means that it’s important to know what danger looks like, but still just as important to know what ya’ allies look like. Awareness, mate.”

Basil wondered if this was something the Sniper had learned on his own – perhaps from trial & error, from his own mistakes, or something he was taught.

Who taught him all that he knew? Surely not all of his talents could be innate.

…

“To answer _zhe_ question, yes – it did become that way.” The RED exhaled slowly through his nose, a dim cloud of smoke curling away from his face. “‘Julian’ developed an unattainable de_zire _to be…me. Not simply to be ‘better’ than me – he had a notion _zhat_ due to…replacing me, he would do what Spies are trained to do – assume an identity. **My **identity…no matter how much _zhat…_did not exist...”

There was a pause, & Josiah looked over at the rogue, questioning if he would continue. The eye contact was not reciprocated.

Another few moments.

“…he would seek to get _zhe _‘upper hand’ in every training confrontation we had, whether with knives, guns, or wits…” The assassin wrenched his eyes shut, pinched the bridge of his nose with his left hand.

Why was he saying all of this? Why now?

There was…a strange calmness about it, however.

He had no anxiety relaying the story now, as he did whenever he simply _thought_ about it before.

…

“It was all very…perplexing. I was uncertain how to react to it. He would so often disguise as myself and find me alone on the Base…provoke me into actual fights, ones that ended at respawn.”

Sniper interjected, “Whot was the point of all of that, to ‘im? Did ‘e get off on…being as good as ya’ or somethin’? Wanted ta’ look like ya’? I don’t get it.”

“Truly?” Spy offered a weak smile as he met the Sniper’s eyes, almost apologetically. “I believe he was a masochist.”

“…”

“…_zhe _few times we engaged in, _zhe_ ah…_most carnal_ of behaviors…he was ab_zolutely_ himself.” Spy would face the marksman, almost defiantly, as if he was attempting to defuse the vulnerability in his words by appearing confident in saying them.

“…he only enjoyed things if he was begging for his life – being threatened with my gun, a sharp blade, my hands on his throat.”

…

_…Christ, Spook. Just…**Christ.**_

“You mean…you and that shark-toothed focka’ did **exactly **what ya’ accused me of the otha’ day to try an’ get me pissed off?”

“Hm? What would _zhat_ be?”

“Ya’ accused me of gettin’ off on killin’ – on the thrill, the power trip, whateva’.”

“Indeed.”

“Why would you try an’ say that like it’s somethin’ ‘orrible if you and ‘im did exactly that?!”

Sniper narrowed his eyes at the RED, who regarded him calmly, bemused.

“_Mon cher_, it is because I know **exactly **how it felt to do just that.”

His smile crept wider, exposing sharp teeth in a wicked, dangerous grin. “I know how deplorable I felt to indulge in such actions, and I also know how terrifyingly exhilarating it was.”

Before there was time for a response, Basil closed the distance between the two mercenaries, bringing a hand up behind the Sniper’s neck gently, careful not to pull the marksman’s hair – as the BLU Spy had.

He would speak against the side of Josiah’s face, a threatening level of intimacy in the action, but without any eye contact for either mercenary to draw context or intention from.

“Now you know what it is to be a Spy; to use _zhe_ very things _zhat_ scare you against your enemies – to take _zhe _anxieties crawling on your skin and let them creep onto those you wish to torment.”

The BLU said nothing, exhaling a heavy sigh. He almost seemed to…lean into the touch, accepting the contact.

…perhaps he just wasn’t fighting it.

Either way, he let the RED hold him in the strange half-embrace for a moment longer.

“…mate,” he began, his tone soft for the proximity the two were sharing. “…I don’t think I’ll ever know what it is to ‘be a Spy’ – or what really goes on in that head of yours…”

Spy had been smoothing his fingertips lightly over the marksman’s hair, in an oddly affectionate way, his chin resting gently on the other man’s shoulder. “…but?”

“But,” Josiah backed up from the RED, who immediately came to his senses & averted his eyes, pulling back from the hunter like a kicked dog.

“…but that otha’ Spy is gone, now. For good. Won’t be botherin’ any of us anymore.” He attempted to meet Basil’s eyes, but they were fixed on the concrete floor, unmoving. “…he won’t be bothering **you** anymore.”

“…”

Josiah rubbed the back of his neck. The Spy had given his moment of vulnerability, his flash of honesty, & now he was gone. Retreated into a shell – glass, something impenetrable but unseen.

…

“Didja’…wanna go over ta’ BLU’s Base, now? Finish lookin’ for Miss Pauling?”

…

“…Sniper…”

_…?_

Josiah regarded being addressed ‘formally’ with a raised eyebrow. “What, Spook?”

Basil flicked his gaze up to the Sniper’s warm, hazel eyes, & Sniper felt something sharp & unsettling as he held eye contact with the rogue. The RED’s strong, steel eyes were rimmed with bloodshot scleras.

“…are you o-”

“If you _ever_ think to betray me, _I will kill you_.”

“…”

The words were flat, no intonation of malice or threat – but threat lied within them all the same.

Sniper understood, in a way that he wasn’t sure how.

_He’s given too much about ‘imself. Don’t quite trust me, but told me things anyway. _

_He’s…scared. Of me. Of ‘imself. _

_…_

“It won’t ever come to that.”

Basil considered the confident reply, & gave a slow nod, accepting the swear of fealty.

He turned away from the marksman, rubbing his face with his hands, attempting to clear his mind. Several unintelligible phrases were mumbled under his breath in French.

…

A tremendous exhale, a note of eye contact back at the Sniper.

“…all right, let us go.”

“After you, mate.”

\--

The road between the Bases was always long. But today, it was also silent.

\- - -


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---  
this is why they get along, u kno? because they're always tryna get the upper hand. 
> 
> ...& know exactly how to piss each other off. :]
> 
> edit 04/27: changed the scene of the Unwanted Contact, as it felt too pandering - integrity of story remains.
> 
> \---

\---

There was something about _silence_, though.

It was never the true state of things – never a constant.

Silence was only the space in-between words, & sometimes that space carried out longer than usual.

Sometimes, it was interrupted.

…

“…a’ight,” Sniper had been considering broaching the topic for quite some time, & finally settled on the right words for it.

A hummed, distant reply from the Spy. “Hm?”

Josiah took glimpses of the RED as they walked – absorbing to memory the odd ‘particulars’ of the man. His wrists seemed too delicate & thin to be as strong as they were, the bones silhouetted at the joint under olive-toned skin. Along the assassin’s right jaw was a short, curved scar, a weak ‘C’ shape – a single parentheses. Cigarettes were always held between his middle & ring fingers, & he alternated his ‘smoking hand’ from left to right frequently.

There was not a shard of a chance the Australian would ever understand what went on in the Spy’s head, but he could witness how the man operated.

The observable could be learned.

…

But what a cursed thing it was, to be curious.

…

The BLU had paused a second too long without finishing his thought, & Basil’s eyes met his, sternly.

“**What.”**

“Ah…a’ight, a’ight. I gotta’ ask, Spook-” Josiah curled his fingers slowly at familiar angles, flexing the digits outward like a canine stretching its paws. He exhaled slowly as the joints cracked in unison, attempting to quell the uneasiness stirring under his skin.

_You bloody started this, why ya’ getting’ nervous about it now?_

_…_

“…if you didn’t even really _like_ ‘Julian’ that much…as- as a person, that is…how’d the two of ya’ even end up in the whole…_love-makin’ _situa-”

“Do not call it _zhat._”

This was not the part of the questionnaire he was expecting to be deflected at. In truth, he found the interruption profoundly annoying. “Was only bein’ polite…what’cha mean, ‘don’t call it that’?” Anxiety melted off his bones, but its energy still lingered, becoming flickers of muted rage.

“_Zhat_ creature had no understanding of ‘love’ – much less the ability to _make_ it.”

Gravel skittered across the orange dirt between them.

…

Josiah dragged his tongue hard against the points of his teeth, taking the budding flutters of bloodlust out on himself. “…a’ight, so how ‘bout: _‘the situation in which you two were screwin’ each otha’s brains out’_? That betta’?” He seared the words incandescent – poisonous.

Sniper wasn’t sure why he found himself getting this accusatory, this aggressive in his tone. Hazel eyes roamed the horizon, avoiding any chance the Spy would attempt to catch his gaze, to hold him accountable for his inflection.

“…much more accurate, at least.”

Dry, vacant. No audible anger to it – no frustration.

He was…willing to talk about this?

_…_

_He’s tired of lyin’ about it, maybe?_

The BLU exhaled slowly, the knives in his tone settling – for now. “So, then…whot got’cha into _that_ situation, exactly?”

Spy smiled, though tiredly – emotionally raw & mentally exhausted. All the same, he would play along with the hunter’s questions for as long as he could.

What was the Sniper looking to learn? What pieces were missing from the intricate web of knowledge he was building?

…

A brutal, taxing thing it was, to be curious.

“_Mon cher,_ have you never suffered attraction to _zomeone_ that was not…ah, compatible…with you?”

He nodded. “’Course I ‘ave, but that’s not the same as fuckin’ someone that ya’ routinely fantasize about killin’…”

The insatiable hunger in his blood returned, frothing rabid under his skin. It was different now, though – more malicious, demanding.

“In fact, let me ask ya’…’ow many times did ya’ pretend ta’ be _him_ when you did those…mirror practices? How many times ‘ave you dreamt up killin’ ‘im? Or…more interestin’ly, him killin’ _you_?”

Basil had stopped, taking a decidedly long drag from his smoke as he stared hard at the BLU.

“Maybe…” Josiah turned to face him, eyes alight with frenzied sparks. “…maybe you just get off on pain and sufferin’, hm? Ya’ own and everyone else’s. ‘S that is? Is there nothin’ quite like jerkin’ off over ya’ enemy ‘fore you slit their throat, eh?”

...

This had been an interesting exchange, but the accusations had come full-circle.

He was just repeating things they both knew, already.

The Spy would exhale smoke through his teeth, blinking slowly – thoughtfully – at the Sniper.

“What, you were expecting me to be a _bottom?_”

“…”

Silver eyes closed, sharp teeth forming a wholly predatory smile. “…**_hoping?_**_” _

He was so sure of himself, so dominant in their engagements.

…& it absolutely infuriated the Sniper_._

_Fookin’ prick-_

Josiah felt rage leap in his blood, red-hot under his skin. On an instinct that called from a remote, unfamiliar place in his psyche, the marksman pulled a fist back, aimed at the point of the rogue’s jaw, the edge of the parentheses-shaped scar. “Should’ve fookin’!-”

…

With impossible reflexes, Basil’s gloved hand met the Sniper’s fist halfway. He held the BLU steady as their eyes met.

Surprised & perplexed, Spy raised his eyebrows. He shook his head as the Sniper looked away.

“Should have **what.**”

“…”

“**Should have _what.”_**

“Nothin’! Fock off-” Josiah snatched his hand back, angling himself away from the rogue.

“…you were going to say that you should have killed me, the oth_zer _day. When you had the chance.”

There was no response. Hazel eyes stared down onto the dusty road.

“Answer me.”

Josiah looked up, slowly, a pronounced fear & hesitation in the action. The assassin’s eyes were cold, steel, & markedly…_disappointed?_

“I will take that as a ‘yes.’ Now, unfortunately…,” Basil stepped towards him & gripped the man’s arm to prevent retreat – all in one motion.

The BLU watched in a hushed disbelief as the Spy would bring his pistol to the marksman’s jaw, pressed hard under the bone into the flesh of his throat.

“Unfortunately,” Basil continued, “I believe I promised _zhat…_should you ever betray me, I would kill you.”

Unmoving, clear grey orbs fixed on Josiah’s visage. The marksman had shut his eyes, & was attempting to breathe steadily, evenly.

_He’s going to do it._

_He’s going to kill ya’ because ya’ let yourself be provoked._

_…_

“I didn’t…I shouldn’t ‘ave said it because I don’t think it. It ain’t true. I was just…angry. Blindly angry.” Josiah shook his head, shameful at the admission.

Basil pulled the Sniper closer, their noses making the gentlest of contact. He spoke _at_ him in a low growl that didn’t sound at all like the rogue’s usual smooth, even tone.

“Where is that anger of yours now? Will you not defend yourself?”

They were not questions, but commands.

“I…I don’t know…,” Josiah met the RED’s gaze firmly.

_Be honest, then – last chance ya’ got._

“…I don’t know ‘ow to explain…I get this…awful feelin’, this viciousness, when I’m threatened. Feel vulnerable. Like…like a cornered animal. An…and…somethin’ about talkin’ with ya’ always seems to bring it out. Ya’ know right spot on how ta’ get me bristled like that.”

“…” He would wait, coax more from the marksman.

“…I’m…I’m sorry, I am. I shouldn’t’ve said that, or tried to, an’ I definitely don’t think it. I don’t wish I woulda killed ya’ then – an’ I wouldn’t kill ya’ now.” He broke the eye contact, searching the distance for something less threatening to look at. “…I hope you wouldn’t, either. I meant wha’ I said, that it wouldn’t eva’ come to this – I ‘ave no intentions’a betrayin’ you.”

“Hmm…” Basil smiled gently, considering the words that hung in the air softly between them.

He removed the pistol from against Sniper’s throat.

The assassin believed him, inasmuch as men will say whatever words come first to their minds when threatened with death.

The BLU was truthful, though – he knew that much.

…but just how _broken_ could he be?

…

“Tell me, Josiah…,” he brought a gloved hand to the marksman’s jaw, studying the man’s strong – yet sun-torn & war-bitten – features. “Do you always develop…emotions, weaknesses…_feelings_…for _zomeone_ this quickly? _Or am I an exception?”_

…

This routine was becoming familiar to the Sniper.

He had observed it before & encountered it himself.

Spy had a ferocious need for physical touch, closeness – in every scenario he was in.

If the BLU had this figured out at least halfway, the rogue was going to try some sort of backwards, repulse-induced way to get under the Sniper’s skin.

…so he would beat him to his own game, naturally.

…

Without letting himself think about it a moment longer, he pressed his mouth against the Spy’s.

…

Basil’s eyes shot open, caught entirely off-guard by the display. Placing a hand firmly on the Sniper’s chest, he shoves him back.

He shook his head firmly as if to ask, ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ – but nothing was said. They held eye contact at arm’s length, the Sniper’s gaze emitting a warm, self-satisfied glow.

…

Spy…could not tell if the marksman’s action was intentional.

Not _intentional_, but rather – meaningful.

He searched the Sniper’s face, & for some reason, he found nothing.

…& that was terribly worrying.

…

Eventually, Josiah turned, pulling his hood up halfway.

“…**definitely **the exception, mate.”

“…”

He motioned to the air, gesturing for the rogue to follow. “Les’ go.”

…& they did.

\- - -

True, profound silence followed them for the last stretch of their journey.

The BLU Base sat, patient & vigilant, in the small valley at the end of the road.

“We’re…home. Or, eh…somethin’ like that.” Josiah mused, mostly to himself.

They moved towards the garage door-

_‘CLING’_

_‘CLING’_

_‘CLING’_

The sound of metal-on-metal stopped them. Both mercenaries looked around.

“Above,” the Sniper gestured to the roof.

They backed up to gain better vantage of the building. On the roof were multiple satellite dishes, radio arrays, & other electrical equipment that beeped & hummed in typical mechanical fashion.

“Phew! Got it!” A feminine voice came from behind the largest satellite dish, which beeped low & dull, a red light on its antennae pulsing every few seconds.

The one & only Miss Pauling stepped out from behind the machinery & into view of the duo.

_She was alive, thank god._

She noticed them at the same time & covered her mouth with her hands.

“Oh my god! Oh my **god **– my **_boys_**!”

Pauling tossed her shoes down from the roof, & climbed over the side railing, dropping to the ground without hesitation.

_That can’t be good for the joints…_

“Spy! Sniper!” She exclaimed as she reached the mercenaries.

A RED. A BLU.

The last remaining members of this region of Mann Co. – the last survivors.

“Jennifer.” Spy bowed his head respectfully. A small, weary smile crossed his features. “As always, our ray of _zunzhine. _You are well?”

She beamed, nodding in response to the question, & tossed eye contact between the two men. “We’re on…first name basis, I take it?”

The BLU gave a vague gesture of affirmation.

_Jennifer…interesting. _

On this affirmation, Jennifer Pauling would embrace the RED, tenderly – motherly, almost. She placed a hand – small, fragile, nails with chipped eggplant-colored polish – to his cheek, which he closed his eyes & leaned into, as if attempting to absorb the comfort of the touch through her skin.

“Bah-_seal_…” his name crossed her lips & he flicked his eyes open, wearing the same gentle smile. “You aren’t hurt, are you?” She studied the assassin for a time.

“Of course not. Not physically, at least.” He left it at that, & glanced over to the Sniper, offering a small nod of approval.

_Spy felt…safe, with her._

_Also interesting. Very._

In truth, the Sniper had never met Miss Pauling in person before, only through phone-calls & written communication. Yet she still regarded the hunter with pronounced familiarity.

“And Josiah,” she smiled, a tender, genuine warmth filling the space between them. “Ma’am.” He attempted, trying to match the softness in her voice.

Her hands met the sides of the marksman’s hood, pulling it down to his shoulders. Pauling would inspect the BLU for obvious injuries, as their Medic might have.

“You aren’t hurt either, right? Both of you somehow came out of this all right?”

“More or less, ma’am – but yes, I’m just fine.”

…

Jennifer looked between the two men a few more times, green eyes gathering tears against her lower lashes.

_Miss Pauling didn’t cry…_

_…this was a bit of a special occasion, though._

“I…I truly thought I’d never see you two again. That I’d never see…anyone, again.” She motioned for the men to come closer, & as they did, she enveloped them both in a hug.

After a second, she looked up at Josiah, then at Basil. “When was the last time either of you ate anything?”

“Eh…tha’ otha’ day, ‘m pretty sure…”

Her tone changed dramatically, & a stern – yet still overwhelmingly caring – attitude was heard. “Good grief, boys. You don’t get any calories out of smoking cigarettes and swinging knives around. You know that, right?”

“Sorry, ma’am…”

“And stop calling me ‘ma’am’!”

“…yes, Miss…Jennifer.”

“Sure, whatever.” She turned, picking her dark brown shoes up from the dirt & slipping them on. “Come on, we’ll go to my office, get you guys something to eat, and we’ll go from there.”

…

She continued, “…there’s…a lot to discuss, frankly.”

“Oh?” Basil chimed in, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes…but, first thing’s first! Come with me, both of you.”

…

The mercenaries exchanged a look, somewhere between appreciation & apprehension.

They followed Miss Pauling across the desert to a third building, separate from either Base or the battlefield.

The door to this building had a code, & locked from the inside.

For the moment, everything seemed okay.

…or at least as close to ‘okay’ as they were going to get.

But for now, that would have to do.

\- - -


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow i'm really sorry - blu spy just up & became a character like that. 
> 
> so i know someone's gonna ask me, "yo legend, why u always write the dude's name in apostrophes?" (like 'Julian')
> 
> i'm operating on the idea that he exists like a theory, or like something intangible. they don't reference him exactly because no one is sure if they're talking about *him* or not. a previous existence of him, a death replica, etc. etc. 
> 
> it'd almost be respectful, if he was like...a respectable kinda guy, u kno?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--  
"you know i'm not dead / i'm just living in my head"  
\- the everlasting gaze, the smashing pumpkins  
  
edit 11/04: added a few words to the beginning of the scene break just to indicate there was a passage of time, added an extra line of unimportant context dialogue to the start of the kitchen scene, removed the word 'tentatively' from a sentence, removed an instance where i had used 'forced' as a descriptor twice in the same paragraph, lengthened the conversation between Baz & Josha' after the scene break, fixed some incongruity in verb tenses throughout the chapter, also fixed a terrible instance of using 'past' instead of 'passed' lol  
  
edit 11/05: changed/lengthened the original description of the kitchen, added a line to the kitchen dialogue where the speaker seemed unclear, added several lines of internal thoughts/exposition to Baz & Josha's conversation (yes, more of it) since i still didn't like how it sounded, swapped out Sniper saying 'cheers' & replaced it w/ 'mm-hmm' because the first one seemed too nice...for him  
\--

\- - -

It was strange for the mercenaries to think they had lived on the region’s site for over two years with no idea that a third building even existed.

Miss Pauling switched on the lights as the door locked behind them.

The entryway fed into a middle common area with seating & tables, & on the opposite side was an open kitchen. On either side of this common area, stairways led up to second-floor landings, which had markedly opposite color schemes. Warm oranges & browns on the left – white & cool greys on the right.

It was…a smaller version of both Bases…put together.

“RED an’ BLU each got a half o’ tha’ building?” Josiah regarded the heavy metal lining the walls, the industrial locks securing them inside. “And these’re…blast doors?” He mused as the two men followed Pauling. “Whot is this place?”

“It’s a bunker,” she said over her shoulder. “You would come here if…if something really bad happened. Like now!”

Neither of them responded.

“It was intended for use in the event of stuff like nuclear warfare, government unrest…mutiny, and, well…team death. You’d…bring the survivors here. To relocate them.” She had grown quieter, but still moved onward. They crossed the carpeted common room.

In the kitchen, there were industrial-sized appliances mounted into the shelving. A dark grey, rectangular table stood against the wall. The room was too bright, too luminescent - entirely artificial; tiled floor glistening like a hospital's - polished & sterile.

Jennifer turned the oven on & rummaged through the freezer while the two men stood, rather awkwardly, in the doorway.

Spy exhaled, leaning against the wall.

“We…killed ‘Julian’…” he began, absently.

_We?_

Pauling turned to face him, to acknowledge the feat, though looking terribly unsurprised. “I know.”

“…how would you know _zhis?”_

She turned away.

A hefty, vacuum-sealed package was extracted from the freezer, & the plastic hissed defiantly under a knife as the seal was broken.

“Because you would not be here if he was still alive.”

“…”

Josiah’s brow furrowed. “We…wouldn’t be able ta’ walk in here with ya’…if he was still alive?”

The frozen item, a solid block of…meat(?) – or something that looked suspiciously similar to meat – was laid gently in a baking dish. Pauling opened the oven & inserted the pan. The door slammed shut.

She faced them, but did not meet their eyes.

“Remember how I told you guys the BLU Pyro was unaccounted for?”

“_Oui._ Did you find them?”

A nervous breath escaped through her nose. “Sure. I **found** them. You know what that…**lunatic** did to them? 'Julian'? Their very own teammate?”

“…non, I do not.” The RED knew the question was rhetorical, but also understood that the woman had no one to express her emotions to for the past few days, & had likely seen quite a few things that deserved being ‘let out.’

Jennifer met Basil’s eyes, letting twin tears slide down her cheeks on either side. She would not wipe them away.

“He **burned** them.”

“H-how did-” Josiah visibly recoiled, imagining the nonflammable Pyro engulfed in some sort of holy fire from the sky.

“_Chromic acid._ To be specific, he **melted** them.”

“…”

“…_mon dieu.” _

“Yeah, yeah I know.” She pressed her palms to her cheeks, wiping the faded tear-streaks. “And…and then I heard…” shaking her head, she gestured to the space between her & the mercenaries. “Do either of you have a cigarette…?”

The men exchanged a look, not sure which one of them currently had their singular pack of smokes. They both would check their breast-pockets.

Sniper had them. He extracted & handed them to her, along with his lighter, assuming she didn’t have one on her. “They’re not good, ‘m sorry – they’re Engy’s…real strong kind.”

She nodded, though dismissive. It didn’t matter, it was better than feeling this tense.

Exhaling downward to the tile, away from the smoke detector vigilant on the ceiling, she handed back the items – to the Spy’s offered hand.

“…and _zhen _you heard, what?” Basil had never seen Miss Pauling this…stressed, before. The woman did not smoke often, & usually could match the Scout at ‘words spoken in a single minute.’

But nothing was said.

The oven clicked & hummed, its fan whirring, straining.

“…I got the call from the driver that was supposed to rendezvous with BLU Soldier. You know, the same BLU Soldier that I had sent out on his own, new paperwork and all – three days ago.” She blinked at the floor, studying the grout between the off-white tiles. “But it…”

“…it wasn’t _zhe_ driver,” Basil filled in, his gaze far off in the distance, though in reality – sternly considering the wall.

“It was not. It was ‘Julian’ – and…”

A second-hand nervousness was beginning to prickle at Josiah’s skin. “…ya’ don’t gotta talk about this if you don’t wann-”

Strong green eyes flashed upwards at him. “-and he told me he had been interrogating the Soldier for the past **fifty** hours. In that time, our Soldier would not even tell ‘Julian’ his name.” She sighed, defeated. “They were…teammates, at one point. **Your** teammates, too…” nodding at the Sniper.

“What could _Zoldier_ possibly know _zhat_ _he_ did not?”

Jennifer’s attention cast towards the RED. “I can’t be for certain, but ‘Julian’ knew that Solider had spoken to me…maybe he wanted to know about the respawn shutdown, or who else was alive.”

“…I prolly’ shouldn’t ask, but. Solly’ is…not…” The BLU treaded carefully, not wanting to finish the sentence.

Pauling pressed the end of her cigarette into the kitchen sink basin. It snuffed itself out against the damp surface.

“A bit after the call hung up, there was a _huge_ explosion. I went up to the watch-room, and all the way down the road leading off-Base – was the car he had called from, with BLU Soldier tied up somewhere inside it. The whole thing was on fire.”

“…”

“I couldn’t even go out there to…to put it out. Nothing felt safe, it was like a virus lurked right outside, and it would kill me as soon as I left. I just…watched it burn.” She shook her head at the counter, as if these things weren’t true – or she desperately wished they weren’t. “…_I just watched it burn_.”

…

Basil blinked rapidly.

This wasn’t coming together correctly.

“Non, non. _Zhis_ cannot be.”

Pauling looked over wearily to consider the rogue. “How?”

“When you found _zhe _Pyro – it appeared to be an explosion, non?”

“…dreadfully so, yes.”

“_Oui – _and when ‘Julian’ called you, did he allow you to speak with _zhe Zoldier?”_

“I…a little. I heard him apologize to ‘the Country’ and then he thanked me for ‘giving him another life’ – his new papers and all – ‘even though it was short.’” The woman would smile softly, bittersweet. She tucked a stray lock of dark hair back into her disheveled bun. “…I get the feeling he was at gunpoint the whole time, in case he said something compromising to me.”

“And _zhe_ car explosion – it was right after _zhe _call?”

“I mean…not _right_ after…- well, yeah I guess it was. Less than a minute, definitely.” She made a face at the assassin. “What are you getting at?”

Josiah wasn’t sure where this was going either, but he watched with interest as Basil leaned against the table, tapping gloved fingers against its surface.

“When we encountered him, he was not…injured. Not...beyond what we had inflicted, _zhat_ is. No part of his skin nor suit was damaged, from fire or _othzerwize…_yet there was no respawn. No way he could have…perfectly tended to an injury. And he would have been…much too close to _eithzer _of those blasts to not have some sort of evidence of it on him.” The RED pressed his fist against the table, shaking his head. “I am not sure how he survived _zhat_ car at _all_, if he was _zhere_ just seconds before...”

Miss Pauling’s expression fell, replaced with concern & worry.

“How…good is ‘Julian’, with the ‘Dead Ringer’ device? How well can someone feign death? For how long?”

…

_There’s absolutely no fockin’ way…_

“He’s been…playin’ dead…this whole time. Again an’ again.” The BLU meant this as a question, but the words came out too flatly, too decidedly - as if he already knew it was true.

“…”

The three of them exchanged looks, each moment of contact adding a heightened level of stress to the conversation.

Neither of them rebuffed him.

Josiah continued, intensity flickering in hazel eyes. “The sentry-gun in the RED Base, first…to cause panic…” His eyes widened, & he met the Spy’s knowing silver gaze. It all made sense, inasmuch as they wished it didn’t.

“…the other murders…were explosions _on purpose_. His…feigned corpse wouldn’t be there for anyone to figure out he’s just playin’ possum. Everything’d get chewed up in tha’ flames.”

Pauling searched their faces.

The oven sounded, & was ignored.

…

Basil stared hard at the table.

They had really, _really _fucked this up.

“When I searched his body…he did not have his _pozzessionz _on him. His cigarette case, his pistol. I thought _zhis _was very odd but I did not put the two together. I had no idea he was doing…_zhis._”

Josiah chewed his lower lip. “He…survived the bullet through the head, and he’s still alive, is what you’re suggestin’?”

“I am not **suggesting** it.”

“…”

Jennifer Pauling would begin pacing the kitchen floor, barefoot, the soles of her feet making a soft ‘tat, tat’ sound against the tile.

“Okay, okay…this isn’t the end of the world. We’ll be okay. We’re together now and we’re safe here. Okay?”

She continued, “Plus, when I was at BLU’s Base where we met, I was fixing the satellite array – the thing that had cut off communication to the phones. I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that ‘Julian’ did that, as well. But if we have connection to the outside world, now – maybe we can get help? There are other regions, other Bases, other people in Mann Co. that aren’t myself and the Administrator, believe it or not…”

Josiah shook his head. “Whot if he listens to the radio comms., knows what our plans are?”

A gloved hand waved dismissively. “Non, he would not. He is an outstanding madman, but not an outstandingly _intelligent _man.” The RED closed his eyes, pressing his knuckles to his forehead. “How did he even get so skilled at feigned death?” It was said quietly, mostly to himself.

“…’ow does it even work?”

A small, forced smile. “Eh…it is complicated. It is almost…something not from _zhis _world. It manipulates time, parallels of existing. Being in two ‘universes’ at once, yet you only continue living in one.”

“That’s how he can take a bullet through ‘is skull and walk away from it…somewhere else?”

A nod – serious, eyes hard & steeled.

“That’s…that’s bloody terrifyin’, if I’m bein’ honest.” He gave a sharply-exhaled laugh, combing his fingers through his hair.

“_Truly._”

“…”

“I will assume _zhat_ you cannot…sense his presence,” Basil waved a hand vaguely towards the Sniper, “-or whatever it is you do, exactly – when he does a thing like_ zhat?”_

Josiah shook his head. “Nah, there’s…somethin’ about it – it’s like ya’ completely’ve disappeared. You’ve done it to me b’fore, always scares tha’ hell outta’ me, an’ nearly always gets me respawn’d.” His knuckles curled reflexively at this thought, the joints popping sharply.

…

The oven notified them again of its presence.

Pauling turned sharply. “Shit!”

Pulling the door open, a waft of smoke exited the appliance. A towel would be wrapped around the woman’s hand before she reached in to extract the ‘loaf’ item.

“…goddammit!” The dish would be hastily dropped onto the stovetop as she fanned her hand against the air.

A charred, withered block of…something…sat at the bottom of the pan.

The three of them stared at it briefly.

Its mottled surface crackled in return.

…

“Alright then…” Jennifer would slowly push the object, pan & all, into the bottom of the sink, running cold water over it. Steam seared off of its surface.

She turned abruptly, leaving the water on.

“Hey, why don’t you boys go shower and put on some clothes that are a bit…fresher…and I’ll make something el-”

“_Edible?”_ The Spy chided, tossing her a wry smile.

“Absolutely! Now go away, both of you. Shoo!” She ushered them out of the kitchen with mock-forcefulness.

As they crossed the floor of the common room she called after them, “Left is RED’s sid-…actually you know what, it doesn’t matter. It’s just the two of you and there’s a team’s worth of rooms on each side. You don’t have to stay on faction sides, it’s whatever.”

The mercenaries shared a look of mild amusement.

Josiah regarded the suggestion dryly, at a volume only the Spy would hear. “How romantic.”

Basil exhaled a small laugh. “_Adieu.”_

“Mm-hmm.”

They parted ways to opposite staircases.

…and it was the first time either of them had been _alone_ in days.

\- - -

A brisk few minutes later, Basil stood at the base of the stairs again, running a comb through his still-wet hair. He had left the tie & suit jacket ensemble in the closet, & was clad only in traditional pin-stripe trousers & a white button-down, which he left un-tucked.

It disgusted him how much he looked like…some sort of _businessman._

…

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes.

Sniper did not reappear from BLU’s side of the bunker.

The RED sighed, ascending the opposite faction’s staircase.

He tapped the back of his ungloved hand against the door. A sound of exasperation followed, from the other side.

“Fookin’ Christ, mate. I’ve been alone for…twenty-seven minutes, an’ ya’ already gotta’ bother me ‘bout somethin’.”

“…”

“Fine, fine. Come in, it’s unlocked, whateva’.”

Spy tried the handle. It was – as Josiah had claimed – unlocked.

“I-”

The hunter was facing away from him a few paces down the hall. Shirtless, he was attempting to tie a necklace back into place – a thin black cord.

Basil turned his head to the side. The BLU had a very long, sideways scar from the bottom of his left shoulder-blade, across to the small of his back on the right.

The rogue couldn’t imagine what would inflict an injury like this – no animal with claws would leave only one claw-mark, which made it seem like a man-made injury. It was not…recklessly-made, however. Not a wound created in the heat of battle. It was deliberate, intentional. Practiced & even; a smooth line, a clean cut.

Someone had…tortured the Sniper, at some point? Attempted to mutilate him?

…

Josiah turned around, the jewelry affixed in place.

“The hell did’ja’ want?”

Spy still didn’t respond.

Mulling over the man’s old wound & its potential origin, the assassin’s eyes caught the shine of twin gold piercings as the BLU slipped his shirt on halfway – not buttoning it.

He smiled coyly, thoroughly amused. “You have…pierced nipples?”

“That’s very observant of ya’, mate.”

Sniper didn’t want to be there, trapped in another conversation-turned-interrogation with the RED – but the rogue was standing in the doorway to the only way out.

…& he knew that.

“Why did you get them?” The assassin didn’t particularly care that much, but any amount of information was, in fact, information. And he could never know 'too much.'

“…’cause I liked ‘em? I don’t know. Had my ears done at one point, too, but took ‘em out ‘cause sunlight hittin’ metal will give ya’ position out real quick on the battlefield.”

Perhaps offering extra information for 'free' would quell any additional inquiries from the Spy.

Perhaps the curiosity could be sated.

“Hm.” A distant, disinterested hum.

...but it would not be sated yet.

Basil took a decidedly long look at the other, to regard the previously-unseen features marking the Sniper's frame; a dark, swirled tattoo started halfway on his abdomen, curved around his navel, & ended somewhere below his belt-line. Perhaps an artsy, tribal-style tattoo? It was hard to tell through the coverage of dark hair that also lined the man’s torso, though started further up on his chest.

“…it’s a snake,” Josiah answered before the question could be asked, following the other’s eyes trace the inked design.

“What kind of snake?”

_Good lord, Baz’, what are you tryna’ do?_

“...the bad kind.” Incredibly dry, & he raised his eyebrows to the space behind the Spy, as if asking permission to leave.

Instead, the rogue took a step towards the Sniper.

“How did you get _zhe_ scar on your shoulder?”

Their eyes met with intensity.

White heat seared in Basil's bright irises - animated, electric - brought to life with the situation he had created, the manipulation of someone else's thoughts & emotions. Having complete control over an exchange of words.

...& at the recognition of that manipulation, a familiar & sickening anger – hot magma – pooled under the marksman’s skin.

He would not let it get to him.

He _would not_.

Sharp teeth closed in an uneven line. His response would be growled, forced. “…another Sniper.”

That was far from the answer Basil was expecting, which made it all the more interesting.

As such, he would press this, trying the man’s patience further.

"Not...our Sniper, I assume? Not RED's?"

"...no."

"Ah..._zomeone _before _zhis _contract?"

"...yeah."

"_Zomeone..._remarkably skilled, then? If they managed _zhat_...?"

...

_You’re pushin’ ya’ goddamn luck, mate…_

"...it would appear that way.”

A wild look flashed in those gunmetal eyes, as if seething with frustration that the Sniper wasn't reacting with the anger he expected.

But he could fix that. He could press further.

“They were…better _zhan_ you?”

…

That was enough.

Josiah moved to push the RED out of the way with force – but was stopped, a bare hand firm on his upper arm.

“I am sorry – you will have to answer one last _zhing_ for me.” He looked away from the Sniper as he said this, a pronounced note of seriousness in the tone.

The bloodlust bubbled, but softer. Ignorable.

A very slow, very measured exhale. "...what.”

“…” Basil would wait, testing the silence between them, lining up the words on his tongue.

“…well?”

“I ab_zolutely_ must know your intention behind your…_unrequited actions_…earlier.”

Josiah breathed a laugh, then gave an actual one. “Really? Because you were fuckin’ with me, mate. You were tryna’ get me all riled with the ‘do ya always fall in love this easy’ bullshit. I was just beatin’ ya to the punch. Figured if you were havin’ fun with my sufferin’, I could do the same to you.”

The Spy would consider this for a second before releasing the man’s arm. Sniper was right on all his accounts of accusation.

“Fine.”

“…you mean ya’ couldn’t tell if I was serious?”

He turned to regard the marksman fully. “Non – you are capable of…a certain masking of expression…_zhat _I ab_zolutely_ cannot read. It is…troubling, to say _zhe _least. But I could not go without asking.”

They both exited the hallway, descending the stairs.

“Yeah, I getcha’. But nah, no secret motives 'ere. I think ‘friends’ is gonna’ have to be the limit for me. Sorry ‘bout that.” Sharp teeth formed a playful, jesting smile at the RED, who ignored him.

“…if we ever get **there**, _zhat _is.”

“Ah, fock’ off – you’d miss me if I was gone, that’s about as close to ‘friends’ as I think any blokes can get out ‘ere.”

“I believe I would miss _zhe _‘meat-loaf’ if our beloved Pauling managed to burn a second one…but _zhat _does not imply I was ever ‘**friends’** with _zhe_…loaf.”

Josiah glared over at the RED, who smiled to himself – thoroughly pleased.

Before Sniper could rebuff him, Jennifer called to them from the kitchen.

“Boys! I’ve truly performed wonders – there is food and it is _definitely _edible!”

“You are sure of _zhis?”_

She smiled, setting plates down on the table as it was a family dinner. “_Not at all_.”

…

\- - -


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
i'm so sorry this took me so long, guys...  
this stupid thing is 6k words. just this one chapter.  
i'm not sure what i'm doing, i just really had to get to the scene w/ these friendos talking.  
(plus i've been doing small edits to previous chapters - i've been keeping changelogs at the top of every previous chapter in case you're interested in what's been changed!)
> 
> & we'll see what happens from here. thanks for putting up w/ me.  
love ya'll, take care.  
  
note: the f slur is used in this chapter once - it is not used contextually as a slur, it is referenced as the word itself, but just fyi that it's there  
  
edit 11/09: fixed a typo of "is it" to "it is"  
-

-

…

Stress was like an endless incline - a burn that only grew hotter.

Eventually, it would all become too much.

-

During times of high tension, situations that demanded constant vigilance & complete awareness, it was not uncommon for an individual to become _distanced_, mentally.

Reacting as if they were watching a story unfold on a stage, & were not an actual part of the performance – just observing the play from afar.

It was not uncommon for the _self _to be forgotten, even down to its basic needs.

Hunger.

Sleep deprivation.

Visceral, abject scenes that had been witnessed, blazed into memory.

…

Removed from immediate danger for the time being, all of these things were catching up with the mercenaries very quickly.

They hadn’t even realized they were _starving_ until they were presented with the reality of actually _eating something_.

And while the…‘meatloaf’ was…far from good, & far from being all ‘meat’ – much too fibrous to be protein, entirely – it was **food**.

It was nourishment. It would suffice.

They would survive.

They had so far, hadn’t they?

-

Sniper couldn’t help but prod the question, however, much to Miss Pauling’s chagrin. “So what exactly was _in_ the ah…‘meat loaf.’”

A forced, nervous laugh. “Oh, you know….**meat**, …spice, …” the list did not continue (there were no other ingredients) & Jennifer attempted to end the conversation by rising from the table to loudly clear the dishes.

“…’_meatspice’_? Tha’ hell is that? Like…paprika?”

Spy shook his head, disinterested but following the conversation. “Non, two words. _Meat _and _spice._ Spices…plural, I would _azzume_.”

“…paprika’s not even really a spice…” she would say to herself, to the grey-flecked mock-granite covering the countertop.

Josiah ran both hands through his dark brown hair – which looked brighter in the kitchen’s fluorescent lighting, almost with hints of red, auburn - & sighed. “Alright, but do we know what sorta’ ‘meat’ it is? Seems like it’s a bit vague on purpose, don’cha think?”

He was not sure what brought it out, but the Spy laughed at this. Genuinely, head tipped back to the ceiling.

Jennifer turned & gave him a sharp look as they exchanged some sort of wordless inside joke.

…& The BLU would ask about that, too.

“…whot, what’d I say?”

Basil waved his hand as if in apology. “Non, non…it is nothing…nothing wrong, _zhat _you have said. It is just…”

He would take a very long & very considering look at the marksman, who had a hand up to his necklace, absentmindedly rolling the beads of it between his thumb & index finger.

No, they weren’t _beads._ They were _bones._

Animal bones, from the looks of it.

(…or so he sincerely hoped, at least.)

Carved, hollowed-out…teeth, perhaps?

The jewelry was…a little unsettling. The collection of five mismatched skeletal segments met at the vertex of the thin black cord – all small, delicate, & fragile.

Basil’s train of thought came back around to him, & he moved his gaze up to the Sniper’s eyes. “It is just _zhat_ – in some ways, you and I are so painfully similar, it is…, ah…strange? Non, a different inflection…” He felt the air with his hand, as if trying to grasp for something.

“Perplexing? Mystifying?” Jennifer offered.

“Eh…_weird?”_

“Non, non, non-” he brought his fingers to his temple, impatiently dismissing their suggestions.

…

In a moment, he looked up with a nod, mostly to himself, pulling his original sentence back together. “In some ways you and I are so alike it is – _uncanny _– considering how we are so dissimilar.”

Jennifer set the dishes into the sink basin. “I venture that’d be, Baz’, because you’re the only one I know that can ask me fifty questions about a single topic and still feel that you don’t know _everything_. You always have to know _everything._ When I issue new contracts, I don’t even bother with the ‘summary’ section, I give you the whole thing in detail, all two-hundred-whatever pages, because I know if I don’t, you’ll call back and ask for it.” She glanced at the RED, but switched her attention & smiled fondly at the Sniper, as if talking about someone that wasn’t in the room with them.

Spy narrowed his eyes at her, although it was only the action. No traces of anger nor disagreement could be found on his features, on his words. “I am _cursed_…with curiosity. For _zhis_, I will not apologize.”

“I’d…reckon that’s accurate to me too, sure. ‘Ave always been told that’cha can’t know _everything _‘bout _everything_, yeah? But it’s sure as hell always bothered me that I can’t...”

“_Exactly._” He smiled without teeth, but with a hint of amicability in his sharp grey eyes – something akin to empathy.

…

Abruptly, “To answer your question, you know the ‘Non-Faction Perimeter Guns’ we have out in the desert, just past the Bases?”

He would look at her for a second, considering. “…the ‘Grey Sentries’?”

Within Mann Co., everything was either RED or BLU, & while there technically was legal ownership of ‘Non-Faction’ things – the respawn system, or territorial zones that ended as ‘stalemates’ – these were always referred to as being ‘Grey.’

They didn’t have a color. They belonged to no one.

“Yes, Grey Sentries. They shoot at things that move too close to the border of the Base, out by the fence. Motion-sensitive. Very basic, very easy to understand. Just…make sure you turn them off before you drive up to check on them…” She paused.

“And…what do _zhey _usually…shoot at? The...Perimeter Guns.” Spy was actually quite interested in this – he was very aware of the stoic, watchful turrets, spaced just out of earshot from each other (should they ever learn to speak) bordering the region.

He would sometimes study them for hours, waiting to see action, muzzle-flash – to see if they even _worked_. They would beep & turn often, perhaps spooked by their own shadows or the strong desert winds, but he never actually witnessed them _shoot _anything.

“Birds, mostly. Lots and **lots** of birds. It’s probably my least favorite part of inventory…”

Sniper made a face. “…counting…dead birds? As…_inventory_?”

Jennifer recalled a line from her contract with painstaking accuracy. “I ‘itemize’ and ‘hard-count’ every ‘organic and inorganic object, living and deceased’ if applicable, that has been ‘shipped to, airdropped into, crash-landed on, visited upon, or _expired_ upon – the grounds of Mann Corporation Facilities.’”

His head tipped to the side, a bewildered canine gesture. “Every…week?”

“Every. Fucking. Week.”

She shook her head, “Sometimes it’s interesting, though. There was one time I went out to ‘count the canaries,’ and one of the Perimeter Guns was giving a distress signal, that it was tilted at an unstable angle.” Gesturing with her hands, she skewed her wrist to the side, to illustrate the incline the turret was claiming to be raised at. “I didn’t think that was weird, those signals have never been for anything interesting – but when I got out there, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was an **entire** fucking **deer. **Just…draped over the Perimeter Gun like…just flopped over it. Dead, of course…big deer, too.”

Her brow furrowed slightly as she recalled the situation. “It had…tried to run away from a different turret, I think, and tried to jump the last one and the fence all at once….”

Any notes of sadness had melted out of her tone by the next sentence as she continued. “But! Her body was still in great condition, most of the bullets went cleanly through – she had quite a bit of good venison still on her.”

…

Josiah closed his eyes.

_…ya’ really wanted to know that bad, did’ja? Feel better now?_

…

“…Mann Co. makes…food, for human consumption…from…Sentry _Roadkill?”_

“Pretty much, yes. But once something is freeze-dried, it lasts like…_forever_. Like honestly forever. Decades, at least. So don’t worry about that – everything is still fresh.” She offered a weary smile, fully aware of her words as she said them, but having nothing else to say in their place.

…

He sighed deeply, resigned to the knowledge he should not have asked for.

Everything was becoming _too much_ for him to sit comfortably with.

Rather, it had been _too much_ for a while, but he had only just become aware of the discomfort aching at every edge of his body.

He was terribly uneasy, every joint in his body sore, a pool of anxiety building at the pit of his stomach.

No more words. No more conversations. No more _noise._

He needed to sleep.

But he was far too on-edge, still, for that. Sleep deprivation be damned, insomnia didn’t play nice games - & the hunter knew that all too well. 

He needed to be _alone._

…more accurately, he needed to be alone – _with a drink._

…

Stretching his legs out under the table, Sniper squeaked the chair back against the tile & stood up.

“I hate ta’ depart so soon, but I take it we have things ta’ do t’morrow, and I’ll only be good for ‘em if I’ve slept a bit.”

“Oh, of course – yeah, you guys haven’t slept in…uhh, wow. A _long time._”

Spy nodded, rubbing the back of his neck at the spine – to help ease some of the tension that had accumulated in his shoulders & back.

“And ah…thank ya’ for dinner.” Sniper left that comment where it was, not wanting to pick it back up, being forced to regard the ‘dinner’ as an item he had actually both seen & consumed.

“**Any**time, gentlemen!” She smiled warmly at the Australian.

“…”

Jennifer gave him a brief, considering look – he was still standing there, not _leaving_, as he said he was going to.

“…ah, also…” he started this sentence too late, too much as an afterthought.

She met his eyes with the most knowing of expressions, & Sniper felt the instinct to look away, as if he had a guilty conscience.

“…you would like to know where we keep the alcohol.”

_…_

_Are ya’ really this easy to read or is everyone far more intelligent than you’ve been givin’ ‘em credit for?_

…

Josiah blinked. “…yes, yes that’s right…”

Pauling smiled, though slightly deviously, as if she took pride in being right. “I can find some – there’s lots in the basement, but I wholeheartedly do not trust either of you down there alone…without a map. Or a torch.”

“…a torch?” Basil raised an eyebrow.

“**Spiders.**” Quickly, flatly – an answer she did not want to elaborate on.

“But yes, I’ll get to that – you drink…whiskeys, ryes…dark stuff, yeah?”

Josiah wasn’t sure how she knew that, but he nodded. “Yeah, it doesn’t matta’ though – whatever ya’ find.”

She would offer a small glance to the Spy as well, “And you?”

Basil raised his eyes to meet hers, faking an incredulousness. “What do you mean, ‘and me’ – do I ever ask for anything different than _zhe _usual?”

“No, you brick-head, I mean are you going to bed, or did you want me to get it for you?”

A snorted laugh in reply, “Yes, I will be here.”

She smiled, though visibly apprehensive, like she was heading to a busy day at work. “I will return!”

She rounded the corner of the entryway & disappeared down the hall that extended deeper into the building, opposite the way they had come in.

…

Basil, for once, would speak first.

“Do you like her?”

The hunter did not make eye contact with the RED, but nodded. “She’s nice. Energetic. Reminds me an awful lot ‘f Scout, honestly. Your Scout, tha’ is. RED’s. Ours was real…braggin’, such hot stuff, whateva’…yours just…talked incessantly, out of nervousness, I think.”

“He did, yes.”

…

“Jennifer and ya…is that somethin’…”

The RED rolled his eyes. “_Mon dieu – _non. Definitely non.”

Josiah considered the reply while keeping even, unbroken eye contact with him.

“The two’f you seem real close – didja’ know each otha’ somewhere else?”

Basil nodded sternly. “We are extremely close, yes. I trust her with my life-” he looked at the marksman more decidedly, to punctuate his inflection. “-and I say _zhis_ to _you_, someone whom I do trust, but not in _zhis_ capacity.”

There was no immediate reply, so the RED continued. “…we have worked together for a very long time. Probably _zhe_ entire time since I became a Spy.”

Josiah could feel that there was more hidden in the Spy’s words, & attempted to coax them out with silence.

…

He would be rewarded.

“…we are…if you had, a platonic soulmate, _oui?”_ He thought back to reuniting with the woman earlier in the day. “I was…so relieved, when we found her. Alive. Unharmed.” The rogue shook his head slowly as waves of dark images rushed into him: finding Pauling dead, dismembered, burned to an unrecognizable shape, or perhaps worst of all – being subjected to ‘Julian’s’ psychological torture. 

He would squeeze his eyes shut, trying to will the thoughts away.

Josiah interrupted the thoughts for him. “You’ll forgive me for askin’ but…if the two’f ya’ are so close, ya’ like each otha’ so well…how come’s it never was…romantic? Or, it was – an’ now it’s not?”

_…are ya’ **tryin’** to live up to his assessment of you, or ya’ really just this insatiable to know shit that ain’t any of ya’ damn business?_

Spy smiled knowingly, almost patronizing.

“You would not know _zhis_, of course, but Jennifer is…eh…” he searched for the right word, but it was not found. Blinking, he scowled at the space between them, as if attempting to force the word to materialize.

The BLU wasn’t sure how the sentence was supposed to end, but attempted to be helpful nonetheless. “…is…not your type? You’re not…her type?” He offered a puzzled expression in apology.

Basil gave a sharp laugh – “_Zhat_ is…a way you could say it, yes. Ah, no…Jen is…” he grew quiet, continuing to scrutinize the air.

Finally, Spy met eyes with the Sniper, “I do not know _zhis_ word in English, I am afraid.”

A shrug. “S’okay, can you describe it? I…probably know it? Eh…hopefully.”

The assassin shook his head but accepted the suggestion. He spoke evenly & measured, as if uncertain of his own explanation. “…a woman, ah…not partnered…to a man…?” It was sheepish, almost, as if he was embarrassed to not know something, regardless of how small of a thing it was.

_Single? Divorced? Savin’ herself for marriage?_

_…a bleedin’ nun?_

Before Josiah had a chance to offer anything, something sparked behind Basil’s eyes, & he made stronger, more confident eye contact. “Wait, yes – _zhe_ opposite, er, counter-part – to _zhis_ word, is for a man to be ‘gay,’ but it is not applicable to a woman, _zhere_ is a separate word. _Zhat _word, I do not know. A woman is not partnered to a man _because_ she is…‘_zhis_.’”

…

_…funny, that. Interestin’ word to not ‘ave picked up…would make sense, though – not many uses for it on a battlefield full of men._

Sniper gave an upward nod. “You’re lookin’ for _‘lesbian,’ _would be my guess.”

He snapped his fingers, animated. “_Oui_, yes. _‘Lesbian’_ – I have learned _zhis_, but could not recall.”

Josiah put the sentence together for him. “So, you an’ Pauling never got together…because she’s a lesbian?” He couldn’t help but give a small smile.

_Now that…is **very** interesting._

“_Zhat _is correct. But I appreciate it much more _zhis_ way, I think. To have a friend as true as _zhat_…to be understood, yet…unadulterated by romance…” He cut himself short, realizing he was speaking from his emotions, unfiltered.

_…doesn’t know the word ‘lesbian’ but he can use ‘unadulterated’ correctly?_

“Makes sense. Always been a challenge to try’n’ bond ova’ meaningful shit with a person you’re only interested in shaggin.’”

Basil would nod, but allowed the space to grow quiet.

He tapped a finger against the table. “_Zhe _word – _‘lesbian’_ – it is not…offensive, in its context, is it? Not like other…admirable…’slang’ terms in English _zhat _I have heard…”

Sniper chuckled softly, “Like ‘faggot’?”

“Yes, _zhat’s zhe _one. Your Scout was so fond of calling everyone _zhat_ if they so much as messed up his hair. Anyone _zhat_ accidentally brushed against him – anything…he said _zhat_ as if it was a tenth class’ name.”

“I think ‘e had a lotta’ issues himself…rather, _with_ himself…that he hadn’t quite come ta’ terms with, yet.”

“_Truly.”_

“…but nah, ’s not offensive. As long as the lady you’re referrin’ to isn’t, y’know…straight, or whateva’ else.”

Spy would wave a hand dismissively, as if to say ‘naturally.’

…

Pauling re-appeared after another moment.

She had changed clothes in this time, as well. Her purple & white pin-stripe shirt, which had been tucked into an eggplant-colored, knee-high skirt, had been replaced with…an identical purple & white shirt, though markedly less covered in desert dust. It was un-tucked, & on her lower half were dress pants, in the very same shade of eggplant as the aforementioned skirt.

“Okay! So I found the merlot, and some, uh…” she held up a decanter of amber liquid, squinting at the worn, faded label on the front. “…_something._ But I’m fairly certain it’s alcohol.”

“It will be _fine_, thank ya.’” Sniper nodded in appreciation.

He took the bottle with one hand & gave a single wave over his shoulder with the other. “In the mornin,’ then.”

Spy returned the hand gesture over his shoulder, knowing that the Sniper was facing the wrong way to see it – yet also knowing that he would be expected to do this, & it would…feel wrong, if he didn’t. In case he looked back to check.

…he wouldn’t, though. The exchange transpired with no audience.

…

“Ciao!” Pauling called.

The BLU disappeared through the dark common room & up the stairway to his faction’s side.

-

Basil exhaled deeply as the door to BLU’s side of the compound closed.

He stood, taking the neck of the wine bottle in his hand, & began searching for a corkscrew.

All the kitchen drawers were…empty?

Glancing at Pauling, he less-than-politely muttered something in French about ‘how could Mann Co. expect mercenaries to survive in this godforsaken place with all the wine in the basement and without a fucking corkscrew?’

She answered, in English, “They _expected _them to improvise.”

The woman was fluent in several languages & knew tidbits of many more – & this memory was often misplaced by the Spy.

“Fine, fine.” He gave up the search & retrieved a small, switched blade from his back pocket.

He had no other weapons on him, but had taken the knife as a deep-set instinct; an assassin knew to never leave the house unless they were prepared to survive if that house did not exist when they returned.

…

The blade pierced the thick, porous cork with some effort, & the RED turned the bottle slowly, with a great deal of resistance, before it finally wrenched free – without any satisfying ‘pop’ sound. In fact, the cork crumbled into pieces on the floor as soon as it was freed from the neck.

“…well then. You know what that means!” Pauling seemed strangely excited, all things considered. It was, however, one of the rare times she could spend actually _talking_ with a best friend – face to face.

“It **means** _zhe_ bottle has been stuck down _zhere_, in less-than-optimal humidity conditions, for an agonizingly long time.”

“Maybe, but it also means we have to drink all of it.” She grinned, giddy, as if she was already drunk from the idea of it.

“…hm.” He would consider the weight of the bottle, the estimated contents of it. It was one of the larger, pear-shaped vessels, which always seemed to have more in it than it let on. “I believe _zhat_ is unlikely, as I do intend on waking up at a semi-reasonable hour, with only a semi-unpleasant headache. _Zhat_ would be ideal.”

“Ahck – you’re no fun.” Jen poked through some of the upper cabinets. “Glasses? There’s no stemware, but…”

Spy had already moved into the common room, selecting a chair & settling himself. “We will not be _barbarians_, bring some sort of drinking cups, yes.”

She returned with two glasses, lowball – rocks glasses.

Taking one of the heavy cups in his hand, he studied it briefly. “_Zhis_ is…for liquor.”

“I told you there wasn’t any stemware, there’s nothing for wine or champagne or anything. It’s these or some plastic cups that say, ‘Happy Birthday Saxton Hale’ – would that be better?”

Basil exhaled heavily, & gave no further answer except to pour the deep red liquid into the odd glass.

Miss Pauling dragged a softer, comfier chair over to the small table & sitting area, & settled into it sideways, bare feet on the cushion.

The first glass was offered to her, which she accepted warmly & sipped at in quick – but shallow – motions, as one might do with a cup of water that had too much ice.

Spy sat back in the chair with his own drink & narrowed his eyes at her, almost judgmental. “You…do not know how to drink wine.”

“I know how to consume alcohol.” She smiled, though he wouldn’t see it.

He shook his head & took a small, deliberate taste of the merlot – which was difficult, owing to the wide brim of the glass, not made for savoring or appreciating the contents within it.

Regardless, very familiar & very nostalgic notes of the drink danced against his tongue, the bitterness of orange, a sharpness of something that _could_ be cranberry but most likely wasn’t.

In all the time Basil had experienced this specific wine, examined its flavors – he still didn’t entirely care for it.

…

Jen gestured towards BLU’s side of the building with her glass.

“How much do you like him?”

…it was odd, the phrasing. It was not ‘did he’ like the marksman, it was an assumption that he definitely did, & Pauling only wanted to know exactly ‘how much.’

“…in what capacity are you asking?”

“I mean…do you trust him?”

Basil considered this a second longer than he should have, inviting an assumption of nervousness into his words. “…yes. I am not sure if I should, but I do.”

She turned to look at him, “Has he given you reason not to?”

“Non, more _zhat_…I believe I have no choice, but to trust him. I have told him far too many things, compromising things…I am at the mercy of his loyalty.” A stern, barren expression met hers, empty & threadbare.

He finished the rest of the contents of his glass as if he was taking a shot.

If he was going to be honest, he would at least do his best to not remember talking about it in the morning.

Green eyes widened with interest. “That’s very unlike you…like what?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. Silver eyes shining with a hint of crazed intensity, he smiled.

…almost. The existence of the expression was debatable.

“After _zhe _ceasefire, I asked him to kill me. To free me from _zhis_ respawn hell, from Mann Co., all of it.”

She nodded. “Right, you told me about that before. That you were thinking about it, that is. What’d he say?”

A perceptible, definite smile crossed his features, but one of bewilderment. “And he said he would not do it. _Zhe _enemy mercenary looked me in the eyes and said he did not wish to kill me irrevocably.”

“…”

A re-filled glass was brought to his lips, & he exhaled very slowly. “…Later, I had a gun to his throat, accused him of…disloyalty, for a _zhing _he said in anger…and **still**, he could match my assertation and tell me he was both apologetic for what he said, and _zhat_ he would not kill me, if given _zhe _chance – and hoped I would act similarly.”

Jennifer crossed her legs in the chair to face him entirely. Her brow furrowed, she considered the marksman’s behavior, the words used by Basil to describe him.

“…does he have romantic inclination towards you? Physical attraction? Maybe you wouldn’t know that, the later…” It was strangely formal, her words, but she was ‘studying’ the man from this conversation – building something clinical, a profile of his actions. It was fascinating, all of this.

…madness might be contagious, but curiosity **definitely** was.

Basil closed his eyes, sighing. “I…accused him of _zhis_…during a ‘conversation.’”

“I know what that means, Baz’. You were inciting a fight, getting him to match your anger, rise to your threats.”

“Non, I was looking for…conflict, anger – denial. _Zomething_ I could read from, whether it be a true expression or if _zhere_ was…truly nothing to find.”

She gestured impatiently. “And? You got in his face with your usual bravado and threats – what did he say?”

Basil emptied the glass quickly & ran his tongue against the back of his teeth. He broke eye contact, reaching for the bottle again. “…he _kissed _me.”

Pauling allowed the words barely a second of air-time before breaking out in laughter, full-bodied & genuine. She set her glass down on the table to prevent spillage & covered her mouth with her hand, as if making an attempt to be polite.

He would roll his eyes, exhaling in an annoyed fashion – yet he had entirely expected the reaction. “Yes, yes. Extremely amusing. But he didn-”

She looked up, eyes bright & wide. “Oh of course he didn’t _mean_ it. That’s why it’s so funny.”

“…”

“He’s not _stupid_. He’s a _Sniper._ He’s been observing you, as I know you have been to him. He’s learned how you talk, how you talk to _him_, your patterns of getting under his skin. It was assumed you’d try something awful like that to him, knowing how much you aren’t afraid of…getting _close_ to people. He was…_brilliantly_ beating you at your own game.” Her eyes sparkled, as if she was proud of the Sniper for coming to these conclusions & realizations about her friend so quickly.

The RED bit the inside of his cheek & broke eye contact. “…I do not need to tell you, when you are right.” The smallest breath of laughter escaped him. “However, I still find myself impressed when you bring conclusions together so quickly, and so correctly.”

She shrugged, as if the feat was an everyday occurrence. Alongside a wry, knowing smile, she sat back in her chair. “What did you say to him, after that? After you knew he wasn’t…acting out of _passion_, or whatever.”

…

…no, he wasn’t about to _also_ admit that the BLU had won two battles at once.

He would not admit that the Sniper had managed to be unreadable, imperceptible to him – that he had to corner the marksman & ask him directly of his intentions.

He would not say that Josiah was _better_ than him.

An equal, most definitely.

But better? **Better?**

He balked, ready to flee from the conversation in whatever way possible.

…he swallowed the contents of the recently-filled cup with a needy ferocity.

“Nothing.”

Basil was by no means a ‘lightweight’ to alcohol, but he knew the percentage of the wine, & there was absolutely no reason he should still feel the clawing rushes of panic at his chest.

He breathed evenly. Decided on the action, settled on it: breathing.

…

“Hey – Baz’…”

Her voice was softer, noticing the absence in his existence – the disconnect behind his eyes.

Silver eyes adjusted to her slowly with several blinks. He would not respond, but acknowledged her inquiry of his wellbeing with focused eye contact.

Jen nodded. “I want to ask one more thing about this, if that’s okay. I’m just trying to put this together in my head – Josiah, that is.”

Pressing his eyes shut, he shook his head – not in response to her question, but as if he was attempting to shake the terrible feelings out of his mind.

The action made his vision swim & blur gently. The warmth he had sought from the wine very slowly wormed its way down his spine, through his shoulders, spread through his chest. Very slowly, & barely perceptibly – but it was there. Calming.

She studied his features, the marked rigidness of his frame, the fact he was attempting to drink himself numb – or perhaps the opposite; to drink until something felt _good_ instead of so fucking _empty._

“Before all of that, when he had engaged you to drawing your weapon – why did you not pull the trigger? Why did you believe him?” She reclaimed her cup from the table after adding a measure more wine to it.

That question tasted different than the others had – it came without anxiety, it felt easy.

He turned his head to the side, as if confused by how simple the answer seemed. “…I knew he was not lying.”

“Well, sure…but. I’ve never known you to draw your gun without _absolutely_ intending on having it be the last thing the ‘other guy’ sees. What was different, that time?”

…

Miss Pauling always asked the most difficult of questions.

She could unravel the strongest-willed men with her words – it was her job, after all.

…but at that moment, Basil was not the strongest-willed of men.

…& there was admittedly not much left of him to unravel.

…

“…I don’t know.”

He extracted a pack of cigarettes & a thin book of matches from his pocket. Ration-type items, found amongst the assorted supplies upstairs. They were very…not good – dry, nearly flavorless – but had been stored well & had maintained their shape.

Jen watched him light the cigarette, fan the match out against the air. She observed him switch the object from his right hand to his left.

…

She noticed that he would not make eye contact with her.

“Alright – if you don’t _know_, then what do you _think_ was different. What felt ‘off’ – why did you act differently towards him? Why did you act with…bias? Emotional regard?”

Slowly, sternly, his gaze panned over to her & settled.

“You are asking if I am becoming weak. You are suggesting I am vulnerable to him.”

She chewed at her lower lip, narrowing sharp eyes. “Are you?” She would tread outside the lines of ‘acceptable’ conversation, broach the area of flammable, provocative accusations. “I mean, it would definitely _surprise _me if there were unrequited…emotions, from you towards him, but I can’t say I wouldn’t understand. He’s rather handsome – and that’s coming from, y’know…me…”

Smoke filtered through sharp teeth. “_Stop_.”

Dry & effortless – he shrugged off the passive attempt at rousing his anger. She would need to try harder than that.

Jennifer gave a sterner, more punctuated expression to his interruption. “I understand _you_ but I don’t understand _him_ – yet. Forgive me for not being able to trust him any more than I would trust any of my BLUs.”

Basil regarded this comment as if it had made physical contact with him, searing his chest. “…you are severely incorrect if you believe he is _anything_ like ‘Julian’…”

…

She was first to break eye contact, looking off to the bookshelf against the wall – strangely devoid of any reading material.

“I do not think he is like ‘Julian,’ no – but are you _treating_ him like he is? Are you becoming open, like you were to _him_?” She pointed at the RED, the rest of her fingers wrapped around her half-full glass. “Is it _safe_ for you to be open again, like that?”

Jaw set in a firm line, he re-filled his glass for the…fourth time? Fifth? He wouldn’t keep track – by the end of the night he definitely wouldn’t want to know.

But he did know that while there was a soft warmth under his skin, an electric pulse through his fingers – the expected numbness wasn’t coming. Instead, everything just felt more severe & harsh. More raw. So much more real.

The ability to _feel _was such a terrible affliction.

“_Zhere_ is a difference…between valuing a companion like _zhat_ Sniper, for being an admirable opponent, mentally engaging & sharp-witted – for having an anger _so similar_ to mine…” he let the first half of the comparison drop off, pausing to take a drink, to exhale a pale line of smoke up at the high ceiling.

When he had gathered his words, he met Pauling’s sharp green eyes.

“…_zhere_ is a difference between _zhat_ and being…emotionally compromised from consistent losses of mental stability – being…eaten from inside by guilt, absence of self-identity; a great deal of difference between _fucking_ _zhe_ man _zhat’s _learning from you how to assassinate others in cold blood – occasionally practicing on you – just to feed_ zhe_ rage in your flesh…but you can say _zhis _is under _zhe_ guise of simple attraction and dominance.”

Basil closed his eyes, exhaling deeply.

He flicked his gaze back up at her. “Non – he is nothing like ‘Julian’ – he is better than _zhat_.”

…

“…he is probably – nearly definitely – better than **me.**”

The words stung against his tongue but did not come with the anticipated anxiety.

It was hard to _say_ but easy to acknowledge.

…now, at least.

…

Pauling nodded, almost apologetically, but did not say anything to the effect.

“I trust you, entirely. Your judgement I trust, as well. If you trust that Sniper – then I do, as well.”

A soft smile in return, genuine. “As you should.”

The RED finished his drink for the whatever-eth time, & set the glass down on the table – with a bit more force than intended. He pressed the end of his cigarette to the bottom of the cup & it hissed softly.

Something similar to fatigue had settled itself between Basil’s shoulders, & he turned his neck at several angles, the vertebrae popping with sharp, painful intensity.

Jen sat up straighter in her chair, shivering at the sound. “That can’t be good for your spine…but hey, if you’re going to bed, would you actually check on Josiah first-”

“_Check_ on him? What am I, his mother?”

She laughed. “You didn’t let me finish. I heard one of the side windows open a bit ago, and from the bit that I do know about the guy – mostly unrelated facts and trivia – I’m pretty sure he’s on the roof. Doing, uh…whatever it is he does.”

Spy rubbed his face with his hands, a soft numbness in his cheeks dampening the contact. “I think he writes, actually. Or draws. One of _zhe_ two.”

“Interesting…but either way, I’d like to know he’s not on the roof at uh…midnight-thirty, with an entire bottle of liquor with him. Gravity is…uh. Yeah.”

Basil waved his hand dismissively. “I can assure you _zhat _he is most definitely more intoxicated than either of us, and also _zhat _he is absolutely fine – but yes, if it helps you sleep, I will make sure he has not…unintentionally met the ground.”

“It would, thank you.” She smiled & stood, albeit slightly unsteadily.

He rose from his chair as well, regarding the tiny remainder of wine left in the bottle. Spy winced, giving her a pained look. “We nearly finished it, as you said…unfortunately.”

A gentle laugh was offered in reply. Her cheeks had flushed, but all her words were still perfectly articulated, & if she was drunk, she did a remarkable job at presenting otherwise.

“I will see you in the morning, my _Bah-seal._” She drew his name out long & almost sing-song, & extended her arms to embrace him.

…& he thoroughly accepted the contact, pulling her tight against his chest. She squeaked a small ‘eep’ sound at the forcefulness, but squeezed her friend back tighter, smiling broadly against his shoulder.

Basil pressed the side of his face to her hair & closed his eyes.

Everything was warm. Everything was good.

Not a flicker of anxiety bloomed in his chest – in its place was an absolute, definite sense of comfort.

…this must be what it was, to be loved.

…

After a moment they broke the hug, but Basil would cradle the side of Jen’s face in his hand, stroke the pad of his thumb against her cheek. A wide, true smile crossed her features.

“May I…?” He said this decidedly, though softly, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment.

A slow blink, a slight nod of her head against his palm. “You may.”

…

The kiss was purely gentle, very innocent - & over just as soon as it began.

…

They regarded each other briefly with a warm smile.

“In _zhe_ morning, _ma chérie.”_

…

Basil turned towards the RED side staircase, then stopped, questioning if he should go the other way.

“How exactly am I to reach _zhe _roof…?”

“Uhh…honestly, I’d just try to go over on BLU’s side and see where he went, follow him, I guess.”

The Spy sighed, entirely resigned, regarding the rolling wave of the stairs in his immediate vision. “Of course.”

“Good night, love!” Pauling waved & turned down the hallway beyond the kitchen, where the direction of the basement was.

He wasn’t sure where her living quarters were, exactly, but he was entirely sure they weren’t in the basement…perhaps a third floor, somewhere?

She called back from the hall, “Hey…Baz’…”

“Hm?”

“If he’s uh…if anything’s happened? Just like…yell, or something, okay? I’ll hear you.”

“Good grief, Jen. He’s fine.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Good _night._”

“Good night!”

…

Perhaps for once, it actually was.

\- - -


End file.
